CONJECTURES 

AND 

RESEARCHES 

CONCERNING  THE 

LOVE,   MADNESS,  AND   IMPRISONMENT 

OF 

TORQUATO    TASSO, 

BY 

RICHARD   HENRY  WILDE. 


VOL.    II. 


Di  mia  favola,  lunga  il  filo  incerto 
Con  nodi  inestricabili  e  si  involto, 
Che  per  arte,  di  Febo  esser  disciolto, 
Non  puo,  se  Dei  non  manda  il  cielo  aperto, 
Or  chi  sciorallo  ? 

T.  TASSO.— Sopra  gli  accidenti,  folia  tua  vita. 

Onde  Torquato 

Ebbe  la  fama,  che  volontier  mirro. 

DANTE.— Paradise,  canto  vi.,  v.  46-48. 
Quel  da  Esti  il  fe  far,  che  m'  avea  in  ira 
Assai  piu  la,  che  il  dritto,  non  volea. 

DANTE. — Purgatorio,  canto  v.,  v,  77,  78. 


NEW    YORK: 

ALEXANDER    V.    BLAKE,    54    GOLD    STREET. 
1842. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1841,  by 

ALEXANDER   V.    BLAKE, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


CRAIOHEAD,  PRINTER,- 
112  Fulton  Street. 


CHAPTER    I. 

EARLY  in  October  of  this  year,  (1578,)  Tasso 
wrote  from  Urbinoto  Count  DOMENICO  ALBANO, 
begging  his  good  offices  with  the  Cardinal.  A 
short  extract  from  this  letter  will  be  sufficient : 

"  The  great  malignity  of  others,  and  my  own 
little  prudence,  as  well  in  not  knowing  how  to 
dissemble  injuries,  as  in  resenting  them  with  too 
much  freedom  of  language  ;  my  overweening 
confidence  in  friends,  and  the  faithlessness  I 
have  found  in  them,  have  plunged  me  into  a 
state  so  exceedingly  miserable,  that  the  least  of 
many  evils  which  I  now  suffer,  would  formerly, 
alone,  have  seemed  insupportable.  Yet  could 
I  be  assured  that  snares  are  not  laid  for  my 
life,  and  that  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  holding  me 
justified,  or  not  caring  about  my  justification, 
would  quiet  me  from  all  apprehensions  of  his  an- 
ger, my  other  griefs  would  give  me  little 


4 


trouble,  and  I  should  hope  to  overcome  them 
without  the  aid  of  others.  But  what  relates  to 
my  safety,  if  it  be  not  undertaken  by  some  per- 
son of  great  authority,  who  will  exert  himself 
earnestly  for  me,  cannot  be  sustained  by  my 
own  feeble  strength."* 

Whether  the  DUKE  of  URBINO  was  unwilling 
to  increase  the  causes  of  misunderstanding  be- 
tween himself  and  ALPHONSO,  by  the  open  pro- 
tection of  a  fugitive  laboring  under  his  displea- 
sure, or  ingratitude,  treachery,  and  injustice, 
had  now  rendered  TASSO  habitually  misanthro- 
pical and  suspicious,  he  left  URBINO  shortly 
afterwards,  and  journeyed,  sometimes  on  horse- 
back and  sometimes  on  foot,  to  the  dominions 
of  the  Duke  of  Savoy.  He  arrived  at  the 
gates  of  TURIN  in  such  wretched  plight,  that, 
according  to  Ingegneri,  he  was  at  first  refused 
admission  by  the  guards,  from  a  belief  of  his 
insanity,  t  Writing  thence,  on  All-Souls'  day,  to 
the  Cardinal  Albano,  he  entreats  pardon  for 
having  distrusted  him,  as  with  fluctuating  sus- 


*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p/59,  ed.  di  Pisa, 
t  Serassi,  Vita,  275,  n.  2. 


picions  he  had  done  many  others  most  worthy 
of  his  confidence,  and  begs  the  Cardinal's  in- 
terposition to  restore  him  to  the  favor  of  those 
princes  whom  his  ill-fortune  and  melancholy 
humor  had  alienated  from  him.  He  mentions 
the  offers  made  to  him  at  Turin,  and  requests 
the  cardinal  to  establish  him  in  the  service  of 
the  Duke  of  Savoy,  promising  more  for  him 
than  he  could  for  himself,  and  exercising  such 
authority  over  him  as  to  confirm  his  resolutions 
whenever  they  vacillated  from  inconstancy  or 
folly,  assuring  his  friend  that,  even  though  his 
infirmity  should  hurry  him  into  any  levity,  no 
imagination,  not  even  of  the  most  cruel  death, 
shall  ever  transport  him  into  an  act  less  than 
good  and  honorable."* 

On  the  first  of  December,  (1578,)  he  ad- 
dressed the  Cardinal  again,  imploring  his  as- 
sistance "  to  relieve  him  from  the  miserable 
condition  into  which  his  own  want  of  caution, 
and  excess  of  fancy,  had  brought  him."t 

In  the  interval,  he  received  a  letter  from 
MAURIZIO  CATANEO,  the  Cardinal's  secretary, 


*  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  138, 139. 
t  Id.,  torn,  v.,  p.  64. 
1* 


giving  him  hopes  of  favor,  as  may  be  inferred 
from  his  reply : 

"  To  Maurizio  Cataneo,  Secretary  of  Cardinal 
Albano. 

"  Your  letter  has  been  dear  to  me  above  all 
things,  from  the  hopes  it  gives  me  of  an  answer 
from  Cardinal  ALBANO,  which,  if  it  comes, 
will  be  one  of  the  greatest  favors  I  have  re- 
ceived in  these  years  of  affliction,  and  will  seem 
to  restore  me  to  the  laws  of  other  men,  to 
which  I  would  rather  be  restored  than  gain  a 
million  of  gold.  And  although  I  am  well  aware, 
that  I  myself,  with  my  false  imaginings,  have 
caused  myself  to  be  excluded  from  them,  never- 
theless I  believe  much  was  owing  to  the  malig- 
nity of  fortune,  not  to  say  of  men.  However 
that  may  be,  I  will  yield  myself  so  obediently 
to  the  commands  of  the  cardinal,  (if  he  will 
not  decline  my  cure  as  desperate,)  that  he  shall 
never  repent  of  having  taken  every  thing  upon 
himself.  And  though  I  desire  to  be-  relieved 
by  any  means,  his  agency  will  be  dearest  to 
me,  and  more  especially  if  exercised  with  the 
Duke  of  Ferrara  rather  than  any  other;  so 


that  his  highness  may  be  content  not  only  to 
restore  my  books,  writings,  and  other  trifles, 
but  to  give  me  also  some  hundreds  of  crowns, 
that  I  may  finish  the  work  begun  under  his 
protection,  and  remain  with  the  Marquess*  in 
tolerable  poverty,  because  that  which  I  endure 
must  in  the  end  prove  insufferable.  And  the 
Duke  should  do  so,  not  merely  because  it  is 
his  habit  not  to  be  wanting  to  any  of  his  ser- 
vants, but  because  I  have  revered  and  loved 
him  sincerely,  and  many  faults  are  forgiven  to 
those  who  have  loved  much.  But  the  Cardinal 
will  do  as  he  thinks  best,  and  I  commit  myself 
to  his  prudence.  I  am  infinitely  obliged  by  his 
having  obtained  me  the  pardon  of  the  Cardi- 
nals of  EsTEt  and  MEDICI,^  though  I  do  not 
know  how  I  offended  the  Cardinal  of  ESTE, 
except  by  quitting  his  house,  and  Rome,  with- 
out taking  leave.  But  the  first  fault  was  from 
too  much  humor,  and  in  the  last  I  was  not  to 


*  The  Marquess  of  Este. 

t  Cardinal  Luis  d'  Este,  in  whose  service  Tasso  formerly 
was. 

t  Cardinal  Ferdinando  de'  Medici,  afterwards  Grand  Duke 
of  Tuscany. 


blame,  being  in  the  power  of  others.  The  Car- 
dinal de'  MEDICI  has  greater  causes  of  irritation 
against  me,  and  I  am  so  much  the  more  obliged 
to  Cardinal  ALBANO  for  his  having  forgiven 
them  :  and  every  sign  he  gives  of  holding  me 
in  the  same  esteem  as  formerly  will  be  most 
dear  to  me.  Of  those  two  great  cardinals  I 
am  the  most  humble  servant,  and  of  the  abbot, 
and  Signor  SCIPIO  GONZAGA,  the  servant  I  have 
always  been,  and  even  more,  inasmuch  as  my 
fortune  and  my  mind  are  less  than  what  they 
were.  My  intellect,  nevertheless,  in  all  that 
respects  composition,  is  in  its  wonted  vigor,  as 
you  will  soon  be  able  to  judge,  by  a  dialogue  on 
nobility  which  I  am  writing. 

I  had  resolved  to  go  to  Ferrara,  but  the  hopes 
given  me  of  an  answer  from  the  Cardinal,  and 
the  fear  of  missing  it,  detained  me.  I  will  do 
what  he  advises,  and  go  there,  or  even  to  Rome, 
if  requisite.  Know,  however,  that  I  have  par- 
ticular obligations  to  the  Duke  of  SAVOY,  and 
would  not  spare  to  die  in  his  service  if  an  oc- 
casion offered  befitting  a  man  of  honor ;  for 
such,  with  the  aid  of  heaven  and  the  Cardinal, 
I  hope  to  prove  myself  so  completely  by  my 
actions,  as  to  put  down  all  the  rumors  of  my 


past  life,  true  or  false.     Turin,  1st  December, 

1578."* 

Cardinal  ALBANO'S  much-desired  answer 
was  as  follows  : 

"  To  Signor  Torquato  Tasso. 

"  You  could  not  adopt  a  better  mode  to 
obtain  pardon,  recover  honor,  and  satisfy  your 
friends,  than  to  confess  the  error  you  have 
committed,  in  suspecting  every  one  indiffe- 
rently, which  indeed  has  been  no  less  worthy 
of  laughter  than  compassion.  God  grant  that 
as  you  now  perceive  your  mistake,  you  will 
always  remember  it  for  the  future,  and  you 
should  do  so  the  more  readily,  because  I  assure 
you,  upon  my  honor,  that  no  one  thinks,  or  at- 
tempts, in  any  manner  to  hurt  you,  but  all  love 
you,  and  wish  you  a  long  and  happy  life,  on 
account  of  your  singular  merit.  You  may  have 
seen,  and  may  see,  from  their  results,  that  your 
fears  and  suspicions  are  nothing  but  false  ima- 
ginings, whence  it  is  requisite  you  should  banish 

*  Lcttererlom.  v.,  p.  61,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


10 


them  entirely,  and  by  doing  so  you  will  be 
equally  loved  and  honored.  Otherwise  you 
will  lose  life  and  reputation  together,  and  while 
you  think  to  shun  death,  wandering  here  and 
there,  it  will  encounter  you  without  fail  very 
soon.  Calm  yourself  then,  and  attend  to  your 
studies,  and  rejoice  at  being  with  so  good  and 
noble  a  lord  as  the  Marquess  of  ESTE.  And 
because  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  tear  up 
this  peccant  humor  by  the  roots,  and  that  can- 
not be  done  without  medicine,  you  must  allow 
yourself  to  be  prescribed  for  by  the  physicians, 
counselled  by  your  friends,  and  governed  by 
your  patrons,  and  believe,  in  fine,  that  I  am, 
and  will  ever  be,  one  of  the  first  to  love  and 
favor  you,  and  may  God  have  you  in  his  care. 
Rome,  29th  November,  1578."* 

"  Your  lordship's  letter,"  says  TASSO,  ad- 
dressing the  CARDINAL  in  reply,  "  was  inex- 
pressibly welcome,  rather  because  I  perceive 
myself  in  your  favor,  than  because  I  received 
from  it  any  alleviation  of  my  wretchedness.  I 


*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  64,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


11 


hope,  nevertheless,  to  find  some,  and  mean- 
while supplicate  your  lordship  to  employ  all 
your  influence  with  the  serene  LORD  DUKE  of 
FERRARA,  with  whom  I  know  how  much  you 
can  effect,  and  by  whom  I  desire  to  be  released 
from  this  misery  rather  than  any  other.  Turin, 
14th  December,  1578."* 

The  Cardinal,  says  SERASSI,  exerted  himself 
effectually  with  the  Duke,  who  was  well  dis- 
posed to  grant  TASSO  all  he  desired,  and  re- 
ceive him  anew  into  his  service,  provided  he 
would  allow  himself  to  be  cured,  and  would 
behave  in  a  proper  manner;  because,  the 
last  time  he  was  in  FERRARA,  transported 
by  his  fancies,  he  had  probably  used  extrava- 
gant and  discourteous  language  towards  some 
of  the  courtiers.  His  lordship,  therefore,  caused 
it  to  be  signified  to  TASSO,  that  the  nuptials  of 
the  Duke  ALPHONSO  with  MARGHERITA  GON- 
ZAGA,  daughter  of  Duke  WILLIAM  of  MANTTJA, 
being  about  to  be  concluded,  if  he  went  to  Fer- 
rara  on  that  happy  occasion,  he  would  obtain 


*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  65. 


12 

from  the  Duke,  besides  the  restoration  of  his 
books  and  manuscripts,  many  favors,  and  the 
means  of  remaining  honorably  at  court. 

Overjoyed  at  the  proposal,  the  poet  requested 
the  Marquess  of  ESTE'S  leave  to  set  out.  This 
prudent  nobleman,  though  willing  to  oblige 
him,  either  because  he  doubted  the  Duke's  good 
dispositions,  or  feared  TORQUATO  was  not  in  a 
condition  to  attend  the  festivities,  without  com- 
mitting some  extravagance,  attempted  to  dis- 
suade him  from  the  journey,  promising  to  take 
him  to  Ferrara  himself  in  the  spring.*  In  spite  of 
his  counsel,  however,  and  that  of  FORNI,  and  of 
CAVALLERINO,  the  Marquess's  secretary,  who 
earnestly  endeavored  to  divert  him  from  his 
purpose,  he  was  obstinately  bent  on  leaving 
Turin,  and  hastening  to  the  spot  where  he  ex- 
pected at  least  comfort  and  security,  and  found 
obloquy  and  a  prison. 

This  ardent  longing  after  a  place  from 
whence  he  had  twice  fled  in  apprehension  or 
disgust,  where  he  believed  his  life  to  be  in  dan- 
ger, and  had  suffered  many  persecutions, 
though  now  manifested  for  the  second  time,  has 

*  Serassi,  Vita. 


13 


never  been  adequately  accounted  for.  SERASSI, 
speaking  of  his  first  absence,  says,  the  thoughts 
of  Ferrara,  and  the  writings  he  left  there,  would 
not  let  him  rest.  Thoughts  of  Ferrara,  many, 
and  sad,  and  deep,  must  indeed  have  pursued 
him  every  where.  That  they  were  all  for  his 
manuscripts  cannot  be  imagined.  Nor  can  the 
Abate  be  implicitly  credited,  when  he  attributes 
the  poet's  return  to-  his  extraordinary  devotion 
towards  the  person  of  ALPHONSO.  One  of  his 
sonnets,  most  probably  written  during  his  wan- 
derings in  1577  or  1578,  indicates  another,  per- 
haps a  deeper  and  a  tenderer  interest. 

"SONNET   342. 

HE    COMPARES   HIMSELF  TO   ULYSSES. 

Wandering  ULYSSES  on  the  storm-vexed  shore 

Lay  amid  wrecks,  upon  the  sand  scarce  dry, 
Naked  and  sad :  hunger  and  thirst  he  bore, 

And  hopeless  gazed  upon  the  sea  and  sky : 
When  there  appeared  —  (so  willed  the  Fates  on  high.) 

A  royal  dame  to  terminate  his  wo  ; 
'  Sweet  fruits,'  she  said,  '  sun-tinged  with  every  dye 

My  father's  garden  boasts  —  would'st  taste  them  1  Go  !' 
For  me,  alas !  though  shivering  in  the  blast 

I  perish  —  a  more  cruel  shipwreck  mine  — 
Who  from  the  beach,  where  famishing  I'm  cast, 

Will  point  to  royal  roofs,  for  which  I  pine  1 

VOL.  ir.  2 


If  'tis  not  THOU  !  —  moved  by  my  prayers  at  last, 

What  shall  I  call  thee1?  —  GODDESS  !  by  each  sign."* 

It  is  apparent,  from  a  letter  of  his  to  Car- 
dinal ALBANO,  that  he  returned  to  the  court  of 
ALPHONSO  with  very  moderate  hopes  : 


"  I  thank  your  lordship,"  says  he,  "  for  the 
favor  shown  me  by  his  serene  highness  the 
DUKE  of  FERRARA,  whom  I  am  ready  to  satisfy 


*  Rime,  Parte  Prima,  vol.  iii..  torn,  i.,  p.  176. 
"SONNETTO    342. 


SI   PAEAGONA   AD    ULISSE. 


Giaceva  esposto  il  peregrino  Ulisse 

Mesto,  ed  ignudo  sovra  i  lidi  asciutti, 
Ch'  agitato  poco  anzi  era  da'  flutti 

In  cui  lungo  digiun  sostenne,  e  visse, 
Quando  (com'  alta  sorte  a  lui  prescrisse) 

Donne  real  fin  pose  a'  suoi  gran  lutti : 
Vattene  agli  orti,  ove  perpetui  frutti 

Ha  il  mio  buon  padre,  ivi  godrai,  gli  disse. 
Misero !  a  me  dopo  naufragi  indegni 

Famelico  gittato  in  fredda  riva, 
Chi  fia  che  mostri  i  regj  tetti,  e  gli  orti  1 

Se  tu  non  sei,  cui  tanti  preghi  ho  porti ; 
Ma  qual  chiamar  ti  debbo,  o  donna,  o  Diva  1 

Dea,  Dea,  sei  certo,  io  ti  conosco  a  "segni." 


15 


by  allowing  myself  to  be  cured,  and  behaving 
to  his  people  as  he  desires.  I  have  so  written 
to  the  Count  SCIPIO  SACRATO,  his  favorite,  and 
he  may  send  me  to  Ferrara.  I  supplicate  your 
lordship  to  favor  my  departure,  and  be  assured 
that  I  will  renounce  all  hope  of  future  greatness 
for  a  little  present  comfort.  I  am  nevertheless 
resolved  to  accommodate  myself  to  my  fortune, 
and  most  humbly  kiss  your  hands.  Turin, 
10th  February,  1579." 

He  arrived  in  Ferrara  the  twenty-first  of 
February,  1579,  the  day  before  the  new  Duchess 
reached  Belvedere,  and  the  court  being  entirely 
occupied  with  the  ceremonies,  he  could  not  ob- 
tain audience  either  of  the  Duke  or  his  sisters. 

From  the  ministers  and  courtiers  he  met  with 
nothing  but  rudeness  and  inhumanity.  Two 
of  his  letters,  written  shortly  after  his  arrival, 
sufficiently  attest  the  coldness  of  his  reception, 
and  the  non-fulfilment  of  the  promises  made  to 
him. 

"  To  Maurizio  Cataneo. 
"  I  wrote  you  the  other  day  that  I  had  ar- 


16 


rived  in  Ferrara.  Now  I  have  to  inform  you 
that  I  met  with  the  difficulty  I  apprehended, 
not  at  all  overcome  by  the  favor  of  my  Lord 
Cardinal,  or  by  any  sort  of  humility  in  my 
power.  I  thought  it  best  to  advise  you  of  it, 
and  to  pray  you  would  procure  me  so  strong  a 
letter  of  recommendation  to  the  Duke,  that  I 
may  get  my  books  and  manuscripts,  and  the 
means  of  supporting  myself  here,  or  of  going 
to  Rome.  I  know  it  would  be  easy  for  the 
Cardinal  to  obtain  me  this  favor,  if  he  will  ask 
it.  Ferrara,  24th  February,  1579."* 

"  To  Cardinal  Albano. 

"Signer  Maurizio  gave  me  to  understand  by 
his  letters,  that  coming  to  these  nuptials,  I  should 
receive  from  the  Duke  my  books  and  manuscripts 
and  the  means  of  subsistence.  It  appears  very 
doubtful  whether  the  effect  will  conform  to  my 
•wishes,  because  it  seems  to  me  the  rnind  of  the 
Duke  is  hardened  against  me.  I  shall  not 
cease  to  do  all  I  can  to  appease  him,  and  sup- 
plicate your  lordship  to  favor  me  with  a  letter, 

*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  69,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


17 


at  least  in  so  far  as  relates  to  the  restitution  of 
the  things  that  belong  to  me ;  for  the  rest  I  will 
be  content  with  his  highness's  pleasure.  24th 
February,  1579."* 

On  the  12th  of  March  he  wrote  again  to  Car- 
dinal Albano,  saying : 

"  I  entreat  your 

lordship  to  write  to  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  so 
efficiently  in  my  behalf,  that  he  may  restore  me 
the  place  and  provision  I  had  in  his  service,  or 
one  in  his  court  equal  to  that  which  I  at  first 
enjoyed."  And,  in  a  postscript,  he  adds,  "I 
implore  you,  above  all  things,  to  procure  me 
some  place  of  permanent  abode,  where  it  will 
be  possible  for  me  to  study." 

"From  whence  it  is  apparent,"  says  Serassi, 
"  that  all  this  time  he  was  obliged  to  seek  tem- 
porary lodgings,  first  at  one  place  and  then  at 
another,  having  been  unable  to  procure  any 
fixed  habitation.  And,  in  fact,"  he  continues, 
"on  his  arrival  at  Ferrara,  he  was  not  received 


*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  68,  ed.  di  Pisa. 
2* 


18 


by  any  dependents  of  the  DUKE,  but  by  those  of 
the  Cardinal  d'  ESTE,  who  did  not,  however, 
perform  any  of  the  promises  made  to  him  by 
Cardinal  Albano.  So  that  TASSO,  after  having 
patiently  suffered  this  harshness  for  some  time, 
and  still  finding  himself  constantly  disfavored 
by  the  Duke  and  the  Princesses,  abandoned  by 
his  friends,  and  scoffed  at  by  his  adversaries, 
could  no  longer  restrain  himself  within  the 
bounds  of  moderation,  but  giving  free  vent  to 
his  rage,  broke  out  publicly  into  the  most  inju- 
rious and  abusive  language  possible,  against 
the  Duke,  the  whole  house  of  ESTE,  and  the 
principal  noblemen  of  the  court ;  retracting  all 
the  praises  he  had  bestowed  on  any  of  them, 
cursing  his  past  servitude,  and  denouncing 
them  all  as  a  pack  of  ingrates,  cowards,  and 
scoundrels."* 

"  The  Duke,"  continues  Serassi,  "  apprised 
of  this  vile  language  and  of  TASSO'S  ill-will  to 
his  serene  highness  and  whole  house,  was  too 
generous  and  magnanimous  to  exhibit  any  re- 


*  Serassi's  account  of  the  language  is  not  borne  out  by  Tas- 
so's  authority.  See  the  extracts  from  the  Discourse  to  Gonzagu, 
post. 


19 


sentraent  against  the  unhappy  poet,  but,  respect- 
ing the  excellence  of  his  genius  and  the  merit 
of  his  incomparable  poem,  ordered  him  to  be 
taken  to  the  hospital  of  Sant'  Anna,  and  there 
well  guarded  in  close  custody  as  a  maniac." 

The  biographer  then  adduces  various  proofs 
that  these  rash  and  foolish  words  were  the  only 
cause  of  TASSO'S  imprisonment,  an  hypothesis 
hereafter  to  be  tested. 

The  date  of  this  occurrence  was  about  the 
middle  of  March,  1579.  The  .place  of  his  con- 
finement, an  asylum  for  the  indigent  sick,  and 
insane  :  the  period  of  his  durance,  seven  mi- 
serable years,  and  his  treatment  during  its  con- 
tinuance, as  we  gather  from  his  own  descrip- 
tions, such  as  might  be  expected  from  the  place 
and  the  age.  It  is  impossible  to  say  more. 

Shortly  after  his  confinement  he  must  have 
begun,  and  before  the  end  of  May  had  com- 
pleted, his  "  Discourse  to  GONZAGA  on  the 
events  of  his  Life,"  a  prolix  and  somewhat 
florid  production,  which,  did  we  possess  it 
entire,  would  probably  leave  little  mystery. 
Though  it  did  not  appear  in  print  until  thirty- 
three  years  after  the  poet's  death,  it  was  mutilated 


20 


by  the  first  publisher,  as  we  have  already  men- 
tioned, and  no  inquiry  after  the  original  manu- 
script has  as  yet  been  successful. 

Significant  blanks  being  all  that  remain  of 
some  portions,  once,  no  doubt,  the  most  interest- 
ing, it  would  be  inexcusable  to  inflict  the  entire 
residue  on  the  reader.  A  selection,  therefore, 
has  been  made,  ample  enough,  however,  to  as- 
sist his  curiosity,  perhaps  to  weary  it.*  It 
begins  thus  : 

"  I  know  not,  most  illustrious  sir,  whether  for 
the  purpose  of  inducing  you  to  undertake  my 
protection,  I  ought  to  employ  the  force  of  reason 
or  the  eloquence  of  entreaty ;  since,  if  upon 
the  one  hand,  my  miseries  cry  aloud,  resound- 
ing so  marvellously  through  the  world,  that  he 
must  be  deaf  who  will  not  hear,  and  he  who 


*  Serassi  makes  only  a  few  extracts  from  this  Discourse, 
and  Black,  in  two  quarto  volumes,  finds  room  but  for  a  meagre 
abstract  of  fts  contents,  calling  it  exceedingly  prolix  and  full  of 
irrelevant  matter.  Rosini  was,  of  course,  precluded  by  his 
limits  from  doing  more  than  quoting  such  parts  as  were  favora- 
ble to  his  argument.  In  connecting  these  with  other  proofs,  he 
has  not.  perhaps,  always  avoided  the  error  of  assuming  too 
muchi 


21 


will  not  pity,  inhuman;  on  the  other  hand,  your 
intellect  is  so  acute,  that  you  can,  without  as- 
sistance, not  only  discover  all  the  arguments 
in  defence  of  the  accused,  but  penetrating  further 
into  the  very  nature  of  errors  and  of  crimes,  the 
just  proportion  of  rewards  and  punishments, 
and  the  duties  of  justice  and  humanity;  you 
can  perceive  what  is  due  to  me  after  so  many 
afflictions,  from  those  who,  being  in  this  world 
the  ministers  of  God  and  of  his  divine  justice 
and  clemency,  ought  to  be  his  imitators.  If, 
then,  my  miseries  are  of  themselves  worthy  to 
be  heard,  and  you  of  yourself  are  capable  of 
perceiving  whatever  either  justice  or  mercy  can 
urge  in  my  favor,  it  is  superfluous,  perhaps, 
that  you  should  be  wearied  either  with  my 
prayers  or  my  arguments,  especially,  since  by 
one  or  the  other  I  seek  to  persuade  you  of  that 
to  which,  if  you  have  not  been  already  per- 
suaded by  your  own  bounty  and  courtesy,  nei- 
ther can  you  be  moved  by  my  tears  nor  con- 
vinced by  my  reasoning,  since  the  first  can  tell 
you  nothing  new  of  my  griefs,  nor  the  last  reveal 
any  truth  not  already  known  to  jrou.  And  pos- 
sibly, therefore,  it  would  be  better  if  I  should 
rely  on  a  modest  and  melancholy  silence,  to 


22 


effect  the  object  which  I  do  not  believe  mere 
words  can  accomplish.  But,  having  found  by 
experience  that  silence  has  not  availed  me 
more  than  speech,  I  will  not  be  deterred  by  fa- 
tigue or  peril,  after  the  loss  of  comfort,  quiet, 
content,  reputation,  honor,  liberty,  and  almost 
of  life,  (for  I  hardly  live,)  from  risking  words  in 
attempting  to  recover  some  part  of  what  I  have 
lost.  I  address  myself  to  you  then,  and  rather 
with  arguments  than  entreaties,  knowing  you 
to  be  even  more  rational  than  affectionate,  your 
well-disciplined  mind  having  retained  so  much 
tenderness  and  no  more,  as  may  serve  by  kind- 
ness and  humanity  to  adorn  without  disturbing 
the  empire  of  reason. 

And  I  will  speak  to  you,  not  as  it  is  custom- 
ary to  address  the  ignorant,  nor  yet  judges  and 
senators,  more  habituated  to  action  than  con- 
templation, but  as  one  perfectly  philosophical 
should  be  spoken  to  by  him,  who,  if  he  under- 
stands not,  at  least  admires  and  loves  philoso- 
phy- 
All  that  I  am  accused  of,  most  illustrious  sir, 
and  on  account  of  which  I  have  fallen  into  this 
wretched  condition,  may  be  reduced  to  two 
heads.  Whenever  man  sins  he  sins  against 


23 


GOD  ;  because  GOD,  being  every  where  and  in 
all  things,  he  can  wrong  nothing  without  injur- 
ing one  of  GOD'S  works.  But  there  are  two 
ways  in  which  GOD  may  be  offended  ;  either 
directly,  that  is  by  crimes  against  his  divine 
majesty,  or  indirectly,  by  such  as  are  commit- 
ted against  his  creatures.  The  latter,  also,  ad- 
mit of  a  twofold  division,  into  transgressions 
that  act  on  the  persons  of  our  neighbors,  as 
homicide,  adultery,  treason,  and  the  like,  and 
those  that  stop  with  the  person  who  commits 
them,  such  as  simple  acts  of  incontinence  or 
intemperance,  absolute  or  qualified  ;  vain  and 
idle  thoughts,  and,  to  use  the  words  of  the  poet, 

"  Luxurious  food,  and  sloth,  and  downy  sleep." 

But,  among  the  offences  committed  against  our 
neighbors,  most  grave  are  those  touching  the 
dignity  of  princes,  which  may  be  likened,  in 
some  degree,  to  those  rebelliously  directed 
against  GOD  by  the  pride  and  impiety  of  man ; 
because  princes  on  earth  are  God's  images  and 
ministers.  Such,  then,  being  the  variety  of  sins, 
I,  through  my  fault,  and  partly  through  my  mis- 
fortune, am  accused  or  calumniated  with  some 


24 


of  them.  Because  it  must  be  either  as  a  rebel 
against  the  Duke,  my  lord  by  election,  or  as 
criminal  towards  my  friends  and  acquaintances, 
or  unjust  to  myself,  (if  against  one's  self  injustice 
can  be  committed,)  that  I  am  thus  treated ;  — 
banished  from  the  citizenship,  not  of  Naples 
only,  or  Ferrara,  but  of  the  whole  earth  ;  so 
that,  for  me,  it  is  not  lawful  to  say  what  is  law- 
ful for  every  one  else,  that  I  am  a  citizen  of  the 
world  —  excluded  not  only  from  the  pale  of 
civil,  but  of  national  law,  and  the  laws  of  na- 
ture and  of  God  —  deprived  of  all  friendship, 
and  intercourse,  and  conversation,  and  know- 
ledge—  of  all  amusements  and  comforts — de- 
nied all  favors,  and  in  all  places  and  at  all 
times,  equally  scorned  and  abominated.  A 
punishment  so  great,  that,  unaccompanied  with 
hope,  death  itself  could  not  be  greater,  and, 
perhaps,  by  a  man  of  courage  and  magnanimity, 
qualities  to  which  I  pretend  not,  might  be 
esteemed  far  less.  But  if  this  hope  be  not  the 
promise  of  good  to  come,  but  deceitful  conso- 
lation, such  as  is  given  to  the  incurable,  I  can- 
not decide  whether  it  be  a  mitigation  or  an  in- 
crease of  my  sufferings,  since  I  must  witness 


from  hour  to  hour  the  destruction  of  some  illu- 
sion that  seemed  about  to  be  fulfilled." 

TASSO,  after  a  rhetorical  digression  descri- 
bing the  Greek  punishment  of  parricides,  and 
comparing  his  own  with  it,  proceeds  : 

"  But  comparisons,  you  will  say,  are  not 
readily  equalized  in  the  balance,  and  I  confess 
it.  Nor  from  the  goodness  of  the  prince,  in 
whose  power  I  am,  can  any  cruel  punishment 
be  anticipated  ;  nor  from  his  kind  and  clement 
disposition  any  tyrannous  invention ;  and  that 
which  I  now  suffer,  be  it  what  it  may,  is  per- 
haps rather  deserved  by  me,  than  worthy  of 
him,  the  work,  so  to  speak,  of  my  fortune, 
brought  about  by  many  incidental  causes,  mar- 
vellously concurring  to  my  prejudice,  and  be- 
ginning when  he  thought  rather  of  favoring, 
than  punishing  me. 

"  But  neither  have  I  committed  parricide, 
nor  was  there  ever  any  one  once  manifestly 
absolved  by  the  judgment  of  God,  and  after- 
wards, for  the  same  cause,  unjustly  condemned 
by  the  judgment  of  men.  He  who  killed  his 
mother,  when  his  absolution  was  pronounced 

VOL.  n.  3 


26 


by  Apollo,  ceased  to  be  pursued  by  his  coun- 
trymen; yet  I,  who  by  the  judgment,  not  of 
Apollo,  but  of  the  true  and  all-powerful  God, 
(may  I  dare  to  say  so,)  against  the  will  and 
opinion  of  all  my  fellows,  have  been  miracu- 
lously rescued  from  the  jaws  of  death  —  once, 
twice,  and  three  times  ready  to  devour  me  — 
why  am  I  anew  persecuted  of  men  ?  Is  it  not 
enough,  if  my  crimes  are  so  heavy  as  they 
would  have  them,  that  like  a  new  ORESTES  I 
should  be  tormented  by  remorse  of  conscience 
and  loss  of  reputation  ?  And  if  they  be  not 
so  heavy,  but  that  they  may  be  punished  of 
themselves,  why  is  a  penalty  renewed,  cer- 
tainly not  slight,  nor  customary,  nor  used,  nor 
heard  of,  nor  imagined  ever  ?  But  the  crime 
of  Orestes  was  one,  and  yours  are  many,  it 
will  be  said,  and  he  killed  his  mother  to  re- 
venge his  father,  but  you,  by  what  cause  were 
your  offences  instigated  ?  And  here  occurs  the 
necessity  for  me  to  speak  of  myself,  and  of  my 
faults,  not  indeed  without  humiliation,  but 
boldly  and  frankly ;  and  if  I  shrink  not  from 
the  exposure  of  my  shame,  neither  should  you 
find  its  confession  tiresome  ;  but  if  you  will  not 
listen  with  clemency  as  a  friend  to  his  friend, 


or  a  lord  to  his  servant,  at  least  as  man  to  man, 
sinner  to  sinner,  and  the  subject  of  fortune  ;  to 
one  most  unfortunate,  with  some  feeling  of 
humanity,  you  must  deign  to  listen  to  me  ! 

"  The  bitterest  accusers  pass  over  the  faults 
of  boyhood  and  of  youth,  especially  such  as 
not  being  directed  against  God,  and  only 
slightly  injuiious  to  man,  end,  for  the  most  part, 
with  him  who  commits  them.  But  my  enemies, 
like  swine,  delighting  to  root  and  wallow  in  the 
mire  of  my  iniquity,  if  free  of  uncleanness 
themselves,  as  I  am  willing  to  believe,  have  at 
least  been  incontinent  in  hatred,  if  not  in  se- 
verity. But  if  of  such,  or  the  like  faults,  they 
have  themselves  been  guilty,  which  I  do  not 
affirm,  let  them  not  imagine  I  will  pry  into  the 
secrets  of  their  youth,  if  that  were  possible. 
They  will  allow  me  only  to  say,  that  most  in- 
considerately have  they  used  such  harshness, 
if  conscious  of  liability  to  reproof;  but  fortu- 
nately for  them  they  have  used  it  against  a  per- 
son who  cannot,  or  will  not,  or  ought  not  to  re- 
taliate, returning  like  for  like,  though  the 
Pythagoreans  esteemed  that  the  only  sort  of 
justice.  But  as  I,  so  God  will  bear  me  witness, 
desire  no  other  revenge  of  them  than  such  as 


28 


by  living,  and  by  writing  well,  I  can  inflict,  if 
indeed  this  will  mortify  them,  so  I  confess  that 
not  without  many  faults  of  mine  have  I  fallen 
into  this  wretchedness.  Yet,  if  it  was  the  weak- 
ness of  youth,  and  of  human  nature,  to  err, 
certainly  it  was  owing  to  the  malignity  of  for- 
tune, that  when  my  life  began  to  reform,  and 
my  fair  fame  to  spread  abroad,  which  I,  by 
well-doing,  might  have  hoped  daily  to  increase, 
all  my  honor  was  turned  into  disgrace,  and  my 
manhood  tarnished  and  degraded  by  faults  not 
its  own. 

"  But  whatever  may  be  the  present  charges 
against  me,  for  I  know  not  precisely  what  they 
are — unless  my  conscience  is  greatly  deceit- 
ful, they  are  such  as  rather  merit  pardon  and 
oblivion  than  remembrance  and  punishment. 
My  other  errors  also  are  rather  numerous  than 
heavy,  according  to  the  opinions  of  men ;  and 
if  any  one  in  my  favor  would  imitate  Christ, 
•when  he  said  let  him  that  is  without  sin  cast 
the  first  stone,  silence  would  be  imposed  on 
the  murmurers,  or  rather  criers  and  proclaim- 
ers  of  my  dishonor  ;  and  if  nothing  new  could 
be  added,  the  rumors  of  my  juvenile  faults,  re- 
vived with  such  infinite  pains  and  curious  dili- 


29 


gence  by  my  enemies,  would  soon  return  to 
rest. 

"But  the  accusation  of  being  faithless  to  my 
prince,  added  to  the  original  charges,*  pro- 
duced a  torrent,  nay,  a  deluge  of  misfortunes, 
so  great  that  neither  any  effort  of  human  rea- 
son, nor  the  favor  of  the  most  serene  PRIN- 
CESSES, who  exerted  themselves  earnestly  in 
my  behalf,  v/ere  capable  of  restraining  it.  And 
what  shall  I  answer  to  these  grave  accusations  ? 
What  testimony  can  I  produce  in  my  favor  ? 
Your's,  my  lord,  I  fancy  would  relieve  me  in 
part,  if  not  entirely  from  the  burthen  of  the 
infamy,  or  at  least  greatly  reduce  it." 

TASSO,  with  reference  doubtless  to  the  here- 
tical opinions  of  which  he  was  suspected,  and 
which  probably  are  the  "  original  charges" 
alluded  to  above,  enters  into  a  long  argument 
upon  free  will,  and  maintains  that  it  is  no  jus- 
tification of  incredulity  to  say  our  belief  does 
not  depend  upon  ourselves.  This  may  be 
spared.  But  his  eloquent  apostrophe  to  the 


Probably  of  heresy. 


30 


Divine  Being,  and  account  of  the  final  re-es- 
tablishment of  his  faith,  and  restoration  of  his 
tranquillity,  notwithstanding  their  length,  are 
too  important  to  be  omitted. 

"  I  do  not,  then,  O  LORD  !  excuse,  but  ac- 
cuse myself,  that,  utterly  unclean  within  and 
without,  and  infected  with  the  sins  of  the  flesh, 
and  filth  of  the  world,  I  was  accustomed  to 
think  of  thee,.  as  of  the  ideas  of  Plato,  the 
atoms  of  Democritus,  the  spirit  of  Anaxagoras, 
the  enmity  and  friendship  of  Empedocles,  the 
primeval  matter  of  Aristotle,  the  forms  of  body 
and  unity  of  mind  dreamed  of  by  Averroes,  and 
such  like  theories  of  philosophers,  which,  for 
the  most  part,  are  figments  of  their  own  ima- 
ginations, rather  than  works  of  thine,  or  of  na- 
ture, thy  minister. 

"  Nor  is  it  marvellous,  therefore,  that  I  knew 
thee  only  as  the  first  cause  of  the  universe,  be- 
loved and  desired,  and  drawing  all  things  to 
thyself ;  the  eternal  and  immovable  principle 
of  all  motion ;  the  Lord  of  the  world,  ever 
watchful  over  it,  and  all  that  it  contains.  But 
I  doubted  overmuch  whether  thou  hadst  cre- 
ated the  world,  or  it  had  depended  on  thee  from 


31 


all  eternity ;  and  I  doubted  whether  thouhadst 
endowed  man  with  an  immortal  soul;  and 
whether  thou  hadst  descended  to  invest  thyself 
with  humanity  ;  and  many  other  things  which 
flow  from  these  like  streams  from  their  source. 
For  how  could  I  firmly  believe  in  the  sacra- 
ments, or  in  the  authority  of  the  pope,  or  in 
hell,  or  purgatory,  if  I  doubted  the  incarnation 
of  thy  Son  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ? 
The  second  doubts,  however,  did  not  spring 
from  their  own  proper  roots,  but  rather 
branched  off  from  the  first.  For  I  grieved 
to  doubt,  and  willingly  would  I  have  banished 
such  thoughts  from  my  mind,  curious  and  de- 
lighting in  lofty  and  abstract  speculations ;  and 
willingly  would  I  have  reposed  on  the  '  belief 
of  all  that  is  held  and  taught  of  thee  by  the 
holy  Roman  Catholic  Church.  But  this,  O 
Lord !  I  desired  less  for  the  love  I  bore  thee 
and  thine  infinite  goodness,  than  a  certain 
slavish  dread  of  hell ;  and  often  did  the  angelic 
trump  of  the  last  day  sound  horribly  in  my 
ears  ;  and  I  fancied  I  saw  thee  seated  on  the 
clouds,  and  heard  the  words  of  fear,  "  Begone, 
ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  fire  /"  So  strong  were 
these  thoughts  in  me,  that  I  was  oftentimes 


32 


obliged  to  reveal  them  to  some  friend  or  ac- 
quaintance, and  overcome  by  my  apprehen- 
sions I  confessed  and  communicated,  at  the 
seasons  and  in  the  manner  commanded  by  the 
church  ;  and  if  at  any  time  I  omitted  any  sin 
in  confession,  from  shame  at  having  acted  so 
badly  in  trifles,  or  from  negligence,  I  repeated 
my  confession,  and  often  made  it  general  of 
all  my  sins. 

"  In  revealing  my  doubts  to  my  confessor, 
however,  I  did  not  exhibit  them  with  as  much 
force  as  I  felt  them  in  my  soul,  (because  I  was 
sometimes  on  the  brink  of  disbelief,)  not  so 
much  from  shame  or  wickedness,  as  from  fear 
he  would  not  absolve  me.  And  among  my 
doubts,  the  principal  one  which  I  could  not  re- 
solve was,  whether  mine  was  infidelity  or  not, 
and  whether  or  no  I  could  be  absolved.  Never- 
theless I  consoled  myself  by  believing,  and 
that  more  firmly  than  anything  else,  that  thou 
would st  pardon  even  those  who  had  not  be- 
lieved in  thee,  provided  their  incredulity  had 
not  proceeded  from  obstinacy  and  wickedness, 
of  which  sins  I  am  acquitted  by  my  conscience, 
and  thou  knowest  they  are,  and  ever  have 
been,  far  from  me.  For  thou  knowest  I  ever 


33 


desired  most  fervently  the  exaltation  of  thy 
faith,  although  not  believed,  or  not  entirely  be- 
lieved by  me  ;  and  I  desired,  with  a  zeal  more 
worldly  perhaps  than  spiritual,  but  still  most 
ardent,  that  the  seat  of  thy  faith,  and  of  the 
pontificate  in  Rome,  should  continue  to  the  end 
of  ages ;  and  thou  knowest  that  the  names  of 
Lutheran  and  heretic  were  abhorred  and 
abominated  by  me  ;  although  I  did  not  always 
refrain  from  the  intimacy  and  conversation  of 
those,  who,  from  reasons  of  state,  as  they  said, 
vacillated  in  thy  faith,  and  were  sometimes 
near  scepticism.  And  thou  knowesl,  if  I  spoke 
to  any  one  of  my  doubts,  it  was  not  to  infect 
them,  but  to  relieve  my  own  mind  from  a 
weight  that  at  times  overwhelmed  it ;  and  thou 
knowest,  that  when  thy  chastisements  fell  upon 
me  in  the  most  sensitive  part  of  my  nature,  I 
mean  my  honor  and  reputation,  I  did  not  fly 
from,  but  drew  nigh  unto  thee  ;  and  the  cold- 
ness of  my  heart,  if  it  heated  not,  at  least 
warmed  in  thy  love.  And  although  it  is  said 
the  lukewarm  are  worse  than  the  frozen,  that, 
peradventure,  is  only  true  of  those  who  content 
themselves  in  their  lukewarmness,  not  of  such 
as,  seeking  to  increase  their  zeal,  may  reason- 


34 


ably  hope  for  an  augmentation  of  thy  grace. 
For  thou  dost  not  always  miraculously  en- 
lighten and  inflame  man  with  thy  love,  as  thou 
didst  Paul,  but  sometimes  workest  by  ordinary 
means,  as  thou  didst  with  Cyprian,  who,  to 
enjoy  his  beloved  maiden,  turned  Christian, 
thus  reaching  from  earthly  to  divine  affections ; 
and  moreover,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  is  impossible 
to  pass  from  coldness  to  heat  without  going 
through  lukewarmness.  Nor  did  I  therewith 
content  myself,  though,  mixed  with  the  tepid 
desire  of  thy  grace,  was  a  most  ardent  desire 
of  earthly  honor  and  glory.  But  I  rejoiced 
that  the  fervor  of  concupiscence  and  sensuality 
was  almost  extinguished  in  me ;  nor,  to  confess 
the  truth,  did  I  grieve  to  be  ambitious,  having 
read  in  Cornelius  Tacitus,  that  ambition  is  the 
last  garment  a  wise  man  leaves  off.  Such  was 
I  in  love  towards  thee  ;  and  by  means  of  fre- 
quent attendance  on  holy  ceremonies,  and 
daily  prayers,  in  this  state  I  continued,  and 
even  advanced,  becoming  stronger  in  my  faith 
from  day  to  day ;  and  thus  thinking  of  thee, 
not  indeed  as  I  ought,  but  in  a  better  manner 
than  I  had  done,  my  mind  began  to  presume 
less  upon  itself  than  formerly,  and  clearly  to 


35 


perceive  by  experience,  that  it  obeyed  the  will, 
at  least  when  exercising  itself  in  obedience  to 
thee  ;  and  that  being  habituated  to  profitable 
reflections  and  holy  thoughts,  it  would  be  ren- 
dered worthy  to  receive  faith  as  the  gift  of 
God,  of  which  it  may  be  truly  said,  it  is 
an  act  of  the  understanding,  commanded  by 
the  will. 

"  And  already,  in  great  part,  I  laughed  at  my 
former  doubts,  not  because  I  could  solve  them, 
or  say  what  thou  wert,  or  understand  thy  na- 
ture and  essence,  but  because  I  was  aware 
thou  wert  incomprehensible,  and  that  it  was 
folly  to  attempt  confining  thee,  who  art  infinite, 
within  the  narrow  limits  of  the  human  intellect, 
or  measuring,  with  human  reason,  thy  immea- 
surable goodness,  justice,  and  omnipotence." 


36 


CHAPTER  II. 

ENTERING  still  farther  into  details,  he  re- 
counts the  confirmation  of  his  faith  touching  cer- 
tain points  of  Christian  and  Catholic  doctrine, 
whereof  he  had  doubted,  more  circumstantially, 
perhaps,  than  would  be  acceptable  to  a  majority 
of  our  readers.  The  purpose  here  to  be  ef- 
fected is  not  to  ascertain  by  what  theological 
arguments  TASSO'S  skepticism  was  removed, 
but  whether  his  religious  doubts  had  at  all 
impaired  his  reason. 

"Such,"  says  he,  concluding  this  branch  of 
his  subject,  "were  the  trains  of  thought  and  ar- 
gument I  perceived  in  my  own  mind ;  by  means 
of  which  I  became  continually  more  and  more 
aware  of  the  uncertainty  of  earthly  science, 
and  less  and  less  inclined  to  listen  to  whatever 
may  be  urged  by  philosophy  against  our  reli- 


37 


gion ;  so  that  I  was  not  at  all,  or  very  slightly 
agitated  by  my  former  anxieties. 

"  But  it  is  time,  most  illustrious  sir,  that  I 
return  to  you  after  this  long  digression  into  which 
I  have  been  led,  not,  indeed,  against  my  will, 
but  without  my  purpose,  and  moved  by  no  ar- 
tifice of  oratory  but  by  a  certain  spirit  of  truth." 

Here  follows  in  the  original  edition  a  blank 
of  several  lines.*  From  what  succeeds  it  may 


*  These  passages  were  suppressed,  by  the  first  publisher,  as 
appears  from  the  Imprimatur  at  the  end  of  the  volume  : 

"  Ho  letto  e  copiata,  io  Martino  Sandelli  Doltore  dell'  una,  e 
1'  altra  legge,  e  Rettore  in  San  Martino  di  Padoua,  il  sopra 
scritto  discorso  del'  Signor  Torquato  Tasso ;  ne  in  esso  h6 
ritrovato  cosa  contraria  alia  Santa  Fede  Catholica,  alii  Prin. 
dpi  b  buoni  costumi  (ecczttuale  alcunecosecancellate  d  maggior 
cautda)  anzi  per  la  molta  picta  et  eccellente  dottrina  in  detto 
discorso  contenuta  lo  stimo  dignissimo  delle  stampe. 

Di  Casa  il  di  6  di  Suglio,  1628. 

II  Medesimo. 

Fr.  Io.  Paulus  Sans,  Vice  Generalis,  Sancti  Officij  Paduse. 

Per  Stamparsi.  —  Gio.  Rizzardo  Segretario  dell'  Excel- 
lentissimo  Senato." 

In  all  that  concerns  TASBO'S  faith  the  Discourse  appears  to 
be  perfect.  The  passages  cancelled  for  greater  caution,  there- 
fore, must  be  offensive  to  good  morals  or  to  some  prince. 

The  Discourse  was  first  printed  in  1629,  by  Martini,  in 
VOL.  II.  4 


38 


be  deduced,  that  the  commencement  of  the 
paragraph  referred  to  the  person  who  had 
denounced  him  to  the  inquisition. 

"  But  since  it  would  please 

me  to  take  everything  in  good  part,  let  him 
purge  his  conscience  in  the  sight  of  God,  and 
justify  his  deeds  in  the  judgment  of  men,  and 
I,  for  my  part,  will  be  satisfied.  I  say  then, 
that  as  it  is  possible  for  an  action  to  be  just  in 
itself,  and  yet  unjustly  done,  and  he  wicked  who 
does  it ;  so,  on  the  other  hand,  an  evil  deed 
may  be  done  by  one  who  is  not  bad,  since  vice, 
like  virtue,  consists  in  habit,  which  exhibits 
itself  principally  in  the  manner  or  the  circum- 
stances. 

"Thus,  if  one  for  the  lucre  of  gain,  or  ambi- 
tion, or  envy,  tell  the  truth  or  do  any  other 
good  thing,  and  another  from  shame,  or  well- 
founded  fear,  or  other  necessity,  deny  it,  or  work 
other  iniquity." 


4to.  The  original  MS.,  from  which  Sandelli  copied,  has  esca- 
ped all  research.  Rosini  saggio  sugli  Amori  di  T.  Tasso, 
p.  83. 


39 

Here  follows  another  blank.*  It  may  be 
supplied,  perhaps,  by  supposing  that  TASSO,  in 
conformity  with  his  argument,  blames  the  first 
act  because  done  from  a  bad  motive,  and  ex- 
cuses the  second,  inasmuch  as  the  purpose  was 
not  evil,  or  the  temptation  almost  irresistible. 

....  "And  this,"  continues  the  dis- 
course, "  is  the  doctrine  to  be  so  plainly  and 
clearly  gathered  from  Aristotle  and  all  who 
have  philosophized  about  it,  that  there  remains 
little  doubt." 

Another  blank  occurs.t 

"  Whence,  if  in  the  tribunals 

of  justice  were  seated,  not  the  rigid  executors 
of  written  law,  but  the  correctors  of  its  se- 
verity, the  interpreters  of  the  legislator's  will, 
and  imitators  of  divine  justice,  the  condemned 
would  sometimes  be  acquitted  and  the  acquit- 
ted condemned.  But  if  such  manner  of  judg- 


*  Marked  in  Martini's  edition  by  a  space  indicating  two 
lines, 
t  One  line. 


40 


ment  and  interpretation  belongs  not  to  ordinary 
judges,  at  least  it  belongs  to  princes,  who  are 
themselves  living  and  animated  laws.  Let  the 
ordinary  tribunals,  then,  follow  the  common  me- 
thod, provided  that  princes  be  not  denied,  or, 
rather,  that  they  who  can  do  everything  do  not 
deny  themselves,  or  think  it  unbecoming  of 
their  greatness  to  follow  the  other.  But,  perad- 
venture,  this  sound  argument  is  as  superfluous, 
as  it  is  false  that  my  friend  was  led  by  any 
evil  intention  to  act  against  me.  Yet,  if  it  will 
not  avail  me  to  inculpate  him,  (nor  do  I  desire 
it  should  so  avail  me,)  at  least  it  will  not  be 
useless  to  exculpate  some  of  my  own  actions 
from  disgrace,  and  to  place  in  consideration 
that  it  is  not  enough  things  should  be  just  in 
themselves,  if  they  be  not  justly  done.  For, 
when  I  was  apprised  that  he  accused  me,  I 
thought  I  perceived  (perhaps  I  was  mistaken) 
that  to  fortify  his  accusations  I  was  proceeded 
against  in  a  manner  neither  just,  legitimate,  nor 
usual ;  and  thence  it  appeared  to  me,  if  the 
means  taken  for  my  inculpation  were  extraor- 
dinary, it  was  not  unreasonable  I  should  use 
extraordinary  means  to  exculpate  myself,  even 
denying  what  was  true,  because  I  imagined 


41 


they  sought  to  convict  me  of  what  was  false  ; 
and  I  spoke  of  it  to  the  most  serene  Duke  of 
Ferrara,  my  loving  and  beloved  lord,  and  with 
his  leave  presented  myself.  But  in  the  exami- 
nation, truly,  I  allowed  myself  to  be  greatly 
transported,  not  only  by  feeling  but  fancy,  be- 
cause I  affirmed  some  things  which  I  firmly  be- 
lieved to  be  true,  but  did  not  know  to  be  so, 
and  in  particular,  sought  to  render  suspected  of 
evil  an  excellent  person  whom  I  had  never 
known  to  do  anything  unjust. 

"  But  if  the  means  used  by  me  were  not  usual, 
neither  were  the  proceedings  of  the  judge;  and 
if  he  excuses  himself  by  the  singularity  of  the 
case,  how  can  he  be  excused  before  God  or  a 
wise  prince  for  doing  nothing  towards  my  quiet? 
And,  if  he  wished  to  punish  me,  he  ought  to 
have  enabled  me  to  depart  without  fear  of  rny 
life,  at  least,  not  have  hindered  my  departure, 
when  I  was  about  taking  horse  for  Bologna ; 
but,  as  he  is  a  man  of  just  and  exemplary  cha- 
racter, it  must  be  supposed  he  was  moved  by 
just  and  powerful  reasons  to  withhold  his  favor 
from  me. 

"But  let  me  be  allowed,  if  not  to  complain 
of  him,  at  all  events,  to  lament  my  fortune, 
4* 


which,  if  it  cannot  deprive  the  just  of  justice, 
takes  providence  from  the  prudent,  sincerity 
from  the  sincere,  and  pity  from  the  merciful; 
and  gives  to  falsehood  on  the  lips  of  the  true 
full  credence  and  authority,  taking  all  belief  from 
truth  on  mine,  and  all  weight  from  whatever 
qualities  I  have  worthy  of  esteem.  From  this 
fount  flowed  a  thousand  streams,  nay  a  thou- 
sand most  rapid  torrents  of  misfortune,  shame, 
and  wretchedness,  greater,  peradventure,  than 
were  ever  suffered.  Whence  everyone  •  : '. 
.  .  .*  ought  to  regard  my  case  with  eyes  of 
mercy  and  of  equity,  and  if  they  would  aggravate 
my  fault  by  the  others  with  which  I  am  accused, 
they  ought  to  alleviate  it  as  much  or  more  by  a 
consideration  of  the  circumstances.  For  the 
accusers,  the  judge,  the  causes  of  the  accusa- 
tion, and  the  mode  of  judging,  were  of  such 
weight  that  being  placed  in  the  scale  against 
my  errors,  they  might  make  the  latter  seem 
rather  light  than  otherwise  ;  and  if  to  these 
considerations  were  added  the  ills  that  have 
befallen  me  and  the  grievous  injuries  I  have 
suffered,  they  could  only  be  overbalanced  by 

*  Blank  of  half  a  line  in  the  original  edition. 


43 


such  crimes  as  are  exaggerated  in  tragedy  to 
strike  terror  in  the  multitude. 

"  Nor  will  I  now  so  much  consider  the  nature 
of  sin,  (which  being  a  turning  away  of  the  affec- 
tions from  infinite  goodness  to  created  objects, 
might  appear  deserving  of  every  punishment,) 
as  its  effects  and  consequences ;  since  legisla- 
tors, in  adapting  penalties  to  crimes,  consider 
them  as  more  or  less  hurtful  to  the  common- 
wealth, and  consequently  not  the  greatest  vir- 
tues are  rewarded,  but  the  most  useful  to  the 

prince  or  state ;     .     . * 

or  the  consequences  which  proceed  from  anger 
or  violent  agitation  of  spirit,  but  those  that  arise 
from  perverseness  of  disposition,  and  are  wont 
to  be  deliberately  cherished  in  the  mind,  and, 
by  evil  counsels  and  premeditated  frauds,  stu- 
diously matured  and  brought  forth.  Of  which 
like  vices  and  faults,  I  know  myself  to  be  so 
clear,  that,  though  I  were  taxed  with  all  others, 
I  might  hope  easily  to  excuse  myself,  being 
guiltless  of  the  greatest  and  most  hateful  to 
mankind.  And  if  among  the  Gentiles  expiation 
was  in  use,  particularly  in  cases  the  most  unfor- 

*  Blank  in  the  original  edition. 


44 


lunate  and  miserable,  like  that  recounted  by 
Herodotus,  of  him  who,  after  his  first  misdeed, 
being  courteously  received  by  Croesus,  king  of 
Lydia,  killed  his  son  in  hunting,  by  accident ; 
among  Christians,  whose  peculiar  virtue  should 
be  mercy,  I  know  not  why  the  same,  or  a  like 
sort  of  expiation,  might  not  be  used,  although, 
perhaps,  sufficiently  absolved  remains  he.  .  .. 
.  .  .  .  *  But  I  do  not  refuse  to  receive 
this  penalty,  although  I  lament  that  unwonted 
severity  is  used  against  me,  and  new  modes  of 

punishment  imagined, t 

and  I  grieve  that  those  who  ought  to  alleviate 
my  misery,  or  at  least  console  it,  should  minis- 
ter to  its  rigor,  and  become  aiders  of  its  bitter- 
ness,   $  and  hard  does  it 

seem  to  me, §     and  if  they 

contained  anything  lascivious,  like  tares  among 
the  wheat,  it  is  known  I  intended  to  remove 
it."  II 


*  Blank  in  the  original  edition, 
t  Id. 
t  Id. 
§  Id. 
U  Id. 


45 


"  Nor  should  these  new  errors  of  mine,  since 
my  last  flight  from  Ferrara,  be  imputed  to  me, 
because  he  who  wishes  another  to  be  mad  ought 
not  to  complain  if,  from  desperation  at  not  be- 
ing able  to  do  what  is  impossible,  and  from  con- 
fusion of  mind,  and  the  agitation  of  a  thousand 
hopes  and  a  thousand  fears,  he  cannot  put 
bounds  or  method  to  his  madness.  And  never 
was  there  a  criminal  tormented,  nor  a  besieged 
city  assailed,  by  as  many  instruments  as  have 
assailed  and  tormented  me.  Nor  can  it  be  said 
that  I  departed  from  my  honest  purpose,  but 
rather  that  I  was  forced  and  driven  from  it. 

* 

"  It  remains,  then,  that  I  reply  to  the  impu- 
tation of  being  a  bad  and  faithless  servant  to 
the  Duke,  my  lord,  who  for  the  loftiness  of  his 
rank,  and  the  splendor  of  his  court,  but  more 
for  endowments  of  body  and  of  mind,  and  for 
his  liberal  and  courteous  nature,  is  worthy  to 
be  served  with  all  faith  and  love,  and  more 
especially  by  me.  Because,  from  the  obscu- 
rity of  my  humble  fortune,  he  raised  me  to 
light  and  courtly  reputation,  relieved  me  from 

*  Blank  in  the  original  edition. 


46 


sordid  cares,  and  made  my  life  comfortable. 
He  gave  value  to  my  productions  by  hearing 
them  often  and  kindly,  and  by  honoring  me 
who  read  them,  with  every  mark  of  favor,  con- 
descending to  think  me  worthy  of  his  table 
and  intimate  conversation,  denying  me  no  re- 
quest, and  finally,  in  the  beginning  of  my  mis- 
fortunes, showing  me  the  affection,  not  of  a 
master,  but  a  brother,  an  affection  rarely  found 
in  the  bosoms  of  the  great.  How  then  could  I 
excuse  myself  for  failing  in  the  service  of  so 
noble,  puissant,  courteous,  and  bountiful  a 
lord  ?  if  not  by  throwing  the  blame  on  the 
faults  of  others,  the  malignity  of  my  own  for- 
tune, and,  necessity,  which  is  the  tyrant  of 
man,  leaving  my  will  not  only  excused,  but 
purified  from  all  wrong,  or  suspicion  of  wrong? 
I  will  say  more  ;  that  if  I  had  ever  harbored  a 
design  against  his  life,  his  state,  or  his  honor,  I 
should  deserve  not  merely  the  ordinary  punish- 
ments, or  even  those  inflicted  on  me,  but  what- 
ever else  more  cruel,  Phalaris  or  Mezentius 
could  have  invented.  But  in  fine,  I  offended 
him  only  by  a  few  light  words,  the  like  of  which 
are  often  uttered  by  discontented  courtiers,  or 
by  treating  for  a  change  of  service  from  the 


47 


necessity  of  the  case,  which  he  may  hear  from 
me  if  he  will,  and  in  the  manner  known  to 
you,  most  illustrious  sir,  wherein  I  do  not  be- 
lieve he  can  think  himself  aggrieved  ;  and  with 
words  that  might  have  been  of  much  impor- 
tance, if  not  said  conditionally,  but  which, 
moreover,  were  uttered  in  a  transport  of  just 
anger,  not  against  him,  but  against  one  who 
had  given  me  sufficient  cause,  and  they  were 
spoken  with  an  intention  that  they  should  not 
have  effect,  as  the  sequel  shows,  and  in  terms 
so  restricted  that  it  was  easy  to  perceive  I  had 
no  purpose  to  remain  in  his  service  with  a  view 
to  his  injury,  but  rather  that  I  sought  to  go 
elsewhere,  so  as  not  to  be  obliged  to  say  or  do 
anything  that  might  displease  him. 

"  And  here  I  should  like  to  recount  fully  my 
various  misadventures,  and  how  they  happened, 
by  which  means  my  good  intentions  and  evil 
fortune  would  be  clearly  perceived ;  but  as  it 
is  not  my  purpose  to  increase  the  irritation 
against  me,  I  will  suppress  my  reasons,  not  to 
mix  them  with  others'  faults ;  nor  do  I  dread 
defrauding  myself  of  a  just  defence,  hoping 
that  your  acuteness,  illustrious  sir,  and  the 
bounty  of  my  serene  lords,  will  supply  the  de- 


48 


feet  of  my  silence,  and  permit  that,  without 
the  aid  of  my  pen,  TRUTH  shall  cry  aloud  so 
powerfully,  as  not  only  to  be  heard  by  the  pre- 
sent generation,  but  to  pass  down  to  all  future 
ages. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  will  not  deny  that  my  lord, 
who  did  not  know  the  secrets  of  my  heart,  may 
have  been  moved  by  some  of  my  follies,  and 
the  authority  of  most  grave  witnesses,  very 
justly  to  punish  me.  But  the  chastisement 
which  his  clemency,  governed  by  the  mercy 
of  God,  forbore  to  inflict,  afterwards  reached 
me  from  others,  in  a  way  which  makes  all  that 
has  since  been  practised  against  me  pass  the 
bounds  of  punishment,  and  take  the  form  and 
nature  of  revenge.  Yet,  whether  this  can  be 
revenge,  and  whether  revenge  on  so  humble 
an  object  can  be  the  work  of  such  high  princes, 
I  suggest,  with  the  utmost  reverence  for  your 
consideration,  not  to  offend  them,  whom  I  most 
earnestly  desire  to  honor,  nor  to  instruct  you, 
from  whom  I  might  rather  learn,  but  that  these 
my  arguments  may  be  strengthened  by  you, 
and  passing,  through  means  of  your  favor,  may 
humbly  present  themselves  to  their  highnesses, 
like  winds  that,  wafted  over  flowers,  become 


49 


odoriferous,  or  waters  that  in  aqueducts  are 
sweetened  and  purified." 

TASSO  here  enters  into  a  train  of  reasoning, 
the  purport  of  which  is,  that  the  same  act  may 
be  either  correction,  punishment,  or  vengeance, 
according  as  it  is  intended  to  reform  the  evil- 
doer, secure  the  public  safety,  or  satisfy  indi- 
vidual revenge.  He  then  continues  : 

"  I  ask  of  you  now,  illustrious  sir,  if  these 
princes  intend  to  reform  me,  to  punish  me,  or 
to  revenge  themselves  upon  me  ?  If  to  amend 
me,  they  are  merciful ;  if  to  punish  me,  just ; 
if  to  revenge  themselves,  angry.  I  desire  pur- 
gation ;  I  do  not  refuse  punishment ;  but  from 
revenge  I  would  escape  as  far  as  I  have  power, 
shielding  myself  under  the  protection  of  their 
friends  and  relations,  and  entreating  and  sup- 
plicating heaven  and  earth  to  help  me." 

He  proceeds  to  consider  these  three  heads, 
and  with  respect  to  the  first,  insists  that  the 
correction  inflicted  by  good  judges  for  the  re- 
form of  an  offender,  resembles  the  medicine 
administered  by  good  physicians  to  the  sick, 

VOL.  IT.  5 


50 


which  causes  short  and  salutary  pain,  not  lin- 
gering and  unprofitable  suffering.  When  the 
moral  part  of  our  nature  is  to  be  corrected,  the 
intellectual  must  not  be  allowed  to  languish, 
but  shame  and  remorse  of  conscience  must 
be  made  incentives  to  future  well-doing,  and  to 
the  recovery  of  lost  honor  ;  and  these,  he  adds, 
were  the  means  pursued  by  the  ancient  captains, 
for  the  correction  of  soldiers  who  broke  their 
ranks  or  turned  their  back  on  the  enemy. 

"  But,  perhaps,"  he  continues,  "it  is  not  the 
business  of  the  patient  to  prescribe  the  mode 
of  cure  to  the  physician,  and  I  who  am  sick 
enough  in  body  and  in  mind,  should  do  nothing 
more  than  tell  him  my  complaints.  Yet  I  com- 
plain not  that  my  heart  is  troubled  with  almost 
continual  pain,  nor  that  my  head  is  always 
heavy,  and  often  aching,  and  my  sight  and 
hearing  weakened,  and  all  my  limbs  meager 
and  attenuated,  but  passing  over  all  these  with 
a  brief  sigh,  I  will  enumerate  the  infirmities  of 
the  mind.  And  especially  I  must  say,  that  he 
who  delights  in  honor  can  never  get  well  unless 
honor  be  restored  to  him  ;  nor  can  he  ever  be- 
lieve it  re-acquired,  unless  he  perceive  some 


51 


sign  of  its  restitution  ;  for  honor  is  the  sign  of 
esteem,  if  we  believe  Aristotle,  or  the  reward 
of  virtue,  as  is  elsewhere  said  by  the  same 
author,  and  this  reward  consists  in  some  exter- 
nal mark  ;  for  a  mute  opinion,  manifested  by  no 
act,  cannot  be  called  honor.  But  if  no  other 
sign  can  be  given  me,  at  least  I  ought  to  per- 
ceive that  of  being  admitted  to  the  society  of 
princes,  and  the  conversation  of  nobles,  in  the 
same  manner  as  formerly.  For  if  my  treatment 
continues  as  it  has  begun,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
go  on  in  the  same  way  as  at  present,  how  can 
I  ever  believe  that  I  am  restored  to  honor  ? 
And  if  honor  is  among  the  greatest  delights, 
what  pleasure  can  I  take  in  those  demonstra- 
tions which  never  reach  me,  and  cannot  console 
me,  unless  it  be  the  pleasure  of  a  sick  man's 

dream  .p 

"  But  pass  we  from  purgation  to  punishment. 
The  penalty  should,  without  doubt,  be  propor- 
tioned to  the  offence  ;  but  whether  I  have  been 
already  sufficiently  punished  or  not,  I  remit  to 
the  merciful  consideration  of  those  princes  who 
have  the  power  to  judge  me  ;  and  if  I  have  not 
been  fully  punished,  restraint,  banishment,  ex- 
clusion from  the  halls  of  princes,  are  perhaps 


adequate  punishments,  especially  after  the  first, 
which  struck  me  so  cruelly  in  life,  honor,  and 
repose  ;  and  if  these,  being  ordinary  penalties, 
do  not  content  them,  because  they  are  eager  for 
novelty — to  be  compelled  to  understand  by 
signs,  like  a  mute  or  a  beast,  separated  from  all 
knowledge  of  the  things  of  the  world,  forbidden 
all  action,  interdicted  all  private  conversation 
and  intercourse,  denied  the  mutual  faith  of 
friendship,  and  deprived  of  every  object  agree- 
able to  the  sight,  the  smell,  or  the  taste  —  these 
surely  are  punishments  enough,  without  adding 
to  so  many  miseries  sickness,  and  beggary,  and 
insult,  and  the  prohibition  of  writing. 

"  I  will  say,  moreover,  that  the  principal  ac- 
tion with  which  I  am  charged,  and  which,  per- 
adventure,  is  the  only  occasion  of  my  chas- 
tisement, ought  not  to  be  punished  as  absolutely 
bad,  but  rather  mixed,  because  I  did  it  not  from 
choice,  but  necessity,  (not  indeed  absolute,  but 
conditional,)  and  from  fear  now  of  death,  now 
of  flagrant  shame,  and  now  of  miserable  and 
perpetual  disquiet.* 


*  A  passage  respecting  Aristotle's  division  of  mixed  actions 
is  omitted. 


53 


Nor  do  I  judge  less  deserving  of  pardon  the 
words  that  I  uttered,  seeing  that  they  were 
spoken  by  a  man  not  only  angry,  but  exces- 
sively enraged." 

He  then  goes  on  to  argue  that  they  ought  to 
be  pardoned,  because  anger  is  less  culpable 
than  premeditated  malice,  and  often  where 
there  is  most  anger  there  is  most  love.  And  he 
affirms,  that  in  loving  his  prince,  and  desiring 
his  grandeur  and  felicity,  and  in  affection  to  his 
friends,  and  in  promoting  their  good,  as  far  as 
lay  in  his  power,  he  found  few  equals,  and  no 
return.  "  If  God,"  he  says,  "  pardons  a  thou- 
sand blasphemies  of  sinners,  princes  may  for- 
give a  few  words  against  them  ;  and  Caisar  not 
only  pardoned  offensive  language,  but  forgave 
the  stigma  of  perpetual  infamy  he  received  from 
Catullus,  and  Suetonius  affirms,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  that  he  invited  him  that  evening,  or  the 
evening  afterwards  to  supper." 

He  then  admits,  that  as  crimes  committed 
in  anger  are  offences,  nevertheless,  it  is  not 
unreasonable  that  they  should  be  punished,  but 
5* 


54 


contends  that  the  punishment  should  be  mode- 
rate, and  adapted  to  the  nature  of  the  crime. 

"  But,"  he  continues,  "  to  impose  as  a 
penalty  upon  an  artisan,  that  he  shall  not  prac- 
tise his  art,  is  certainly  unexampled  ;  because, 
by  so  doing,  neither  is  the  majesty  of  the  law 
maintained,  nor  does  any  honor  to  the  prince 
nor  any  benefit  to  the  state  accrue  from  it ; 
nay,  on  the  contrary,  the  punishment  is  alike 
injurious  to  the  world,  and  to  him  that  suffers  it. 
And  so  far  are  the  laws  from  imposing  such  a 
penalty,  that  they  incline  rather  to  spare  the 
life  of  one  who  excels  in  his  art,  although  guilty 
of  grave  offences,  and  willingly  permit  their 
own  rigor  to  be  mitigated  sooner  than  lose  an 
extraordinary  man,  or  any  admirable  work. 
Thus  Augustus  declares,  in  the  verses  with 
which  he  saved  the  ^Eneid  of  Virgil  from  the 
flames  : 

'  Frangatur  potius  legum  veneranda  potestas 
CXuacn  tot  congestos  nocteque  dieque  labores.' " 

TASSO  then  enumerates  a  number  of  instances 
in  which  authors  were  forbidden  to  write,  or  their 
works  prohibited  ;  as  those  of  Livy  and  Virgil, 


55 

by  Caligula  ;  those  of  Gregory  Nazianzen  and 
Basil,   by  Julian,   etc.     "  But,  perhaps,"  he 
continues,  "  this  long  argument  is  out  of  place, 
as  neither  do  I  desire  to  be  classed  with  such 
excellent  writers,  nor  was  the  design  of  my 
lord,  like  that  of  those  wicked  emperors,  he 
being,  if  ever  prince  was,  a  skilful  judge,  and 
liberal  rewarder  of  noble  arts  and  artists,  and 
desirous  as  well  of  performing  deeds  worthy  of 
honorable  fame,  as  of  promoting  those  studies 
by  which  the  memory  of  noble  acts  is  adorned 
and  perpetuated.     But  he  wished,  perhaps,  to 
exercise  my  patience,  or  to  make  proof  of  my 
faith,  and  to  see  me  humbled  in  those  points 
from   which  he  knew  something  of  my  pride 
proceeded,  intending  to  remove  this  hard  pro- 
hibition as  soon  as  he  thought  my  humility 
deserved  it."      ..........     * 

"But  I,  little  obedient  in  disregarding  the 
signs  of  his  will,  and  still  more  incontinent  in 
complaining  that  so  hard  a  law  was  imposed 
upon  me,  departed,  not  driven  away,  but  vo- 
luntarily, from  Ferrara,  a  city  not  my  birth- 


*  Some  comparisons  of  no   importance  to  the  sense  are 
omitted. 


56 


place,  indeed,  but  my  place  of  second  birth, 
whither  I  have  returned,  not  forced  by  want 
alone,  but  induced  by  my  intense  desire  to  kiss 
the  hands  of  his  highness,  and  to  recover,  on 
the  occasion  of  these  nuptials,  some  part  of 
his  grace." 

TASSO  then  proceeds  to  say  that  although 
he  perceives  no  sign  that  ALPHONSO  will  either 
receive  him  again  into  his  service  or  allow  him 
to  serve  the  Prince  of  MANTUA,*  he  thinks  the 


*  Vincenzo  Gonzaga,  to  whom  Tasso  appears  to  have  been 
attached  on  account  of  the  kindness  shown  him  in  his  passage 
through  Mantua  after  his  second  flight.  See  Letter  to  the  Duke 
of  Urbino.  Vincenzo  visited  him  in  prison,  and  TASSO  seems 
always  to  have  relied  on  his  exertions  to  liberate  him,  appa- 
rently not  without  reason,  since  it  was  to  the  Prince  of  MAN- 
TUA that  the  Duke  of  FERRARA  ultimately  consented  to  deliver 
the  poet  on  condition  that  he  should  be  well  guarded,  (see 
Serassi,  382,)  and  not  allowed  to  leave  his  dominions.  See  Let- 
tere,  torn,  ii.,  26,  54,  57,  59,  228,  229,  also  Serassi,  380.  In  a 
letter,  torn,  ii.,  p.  66,  he  says,  he  is  allowed  to  go  through  Man- 
tua with  a  servant  but  not  to  leave  the  country. 

BLACK  gives  this  among  the  proofs  of  his  madness,  but  a 
more  careful  examination  of  all  the  letters  referring  to  this 
subject  will  show,  that  TASSO  was  in  fact  given  in  ward  to  the 
Prince  of  MANTUA,  and  upon  a  pledge  that  he  was  not  to  go 
out  of  his  power.  See  also  Lettere,  torn,  ii.,  350,  351,  216 ;  torn, 
iii.,  235;  torn,  iv.,  69,  185,  and  torn,  i.,  p.  124,  and  especially 
torn,  ii-,  26,  54,  66.  Vide  also  Serassi,  Vita,  369. 


57 


DUKE  might  extend  to  him  courtesy  enough, 
notwithstanding  his  licentious  words,  to  let  him 
kiss  his  hand  ;  and  "I  hope,"  he  continues,  "  if 
of  this  favor  he  was  not  sparing,  of  others,  also, 
he  ought  not  to  be  avaricious,  among  which, 
what  I  most  desire,  is  to  be  allowed  to  write 
without  impediment.  And  what  forbids  your 
writing  ?  you  will  ask  me.  Nothing  now  for- 
bids me,  nor  did  anything  forbid  me  when  I  de- 
parted ;  but  many  things  prevented  me  then, 
and  now  no  hinderance  is  removed." 

His  explanation  of  the  nature  of  these  impe- 
diments is  somewhat  prolix.  The  substance  is 
this.  An  act  itself  is  hindered  by  obstructing 
its  object.  The  object  of  the  artist  is  to  derive 
fame  and  profit  from  his  works ;  of  the  orator, 
to  make  orations;  and  of  the  poet,  to  leave 
poems.  "  But  to  me,"  he  continues,  "  all  the 
civil  occupations  of  man  being  interdicted,  and 
all  opportunity  of  exercising  eloquence,  if  I 
have  any,  it  remains  only  that  I  propose  to  my- 
self the  end  of  leaving  works,  and  if  this  is  de- 
nied, it  follows,  inevitably,  that^I  should  with- 
draw myself  from  vain  and  fruitless  labor." 


58 


Arguing,  then,  that  honor  is  the  nurse  of  art, 
he  insists  on  the  impossibility  of  his  composing 
without  receiving  some  mark  of  kindness.  The 
direct  end  of  the  artist  is  his  work,  but  the  inci- 
dental, and  sometimes  the  most  important  one 
to  him,  its  rewards ;  but  for  his  own  part,  it 
is  impossible  to  say  whether,  in  the  state  to 
which  he  has  been  reduced,  the  one  purpose 
or  the  other  is  most  impeded.  "For  the  mind," 
says  he,  "  shows  itself  dull  to  think,  the  fancy 
sluggish  to  imagine,  the  senses  heavy  in  minis- 
tering to  the  imagination,  the  hand  slow  to  write, 
the  pen  forgetful  of  its  office,  and  all  my  facul- 
ties chilled,  stunned,  stupified,  and  over- 
whelmed." 

After  again  reverting  to  his  wish  of  serving 
the  Prince  of  MANTUA,  he  insists  on  the  hard- 
ship of  punishing  him  while  those  who  injured 
him  were  unpunished. 

"  It  is  known  to  you,  most  illustrious  sir," 
says  he,  "  that  if  by  me,  any  one  at  any  time 
was  offended,  infinitely  numerous  are  those  by 
whom  I  have  been  most  iniquitously  wronged 
to  my  irreparable  injury;  yet,  whilst  I  am  pun- 


59 

ished  for  my  faults,  their  wrongs  against  me 
escape  with  impunity." 

Reasoning  at  length  respecting  this  injustice, 
he  sums  up  the  division  of  his  subject  relative 
to  punishment  thus : 

"  Collecting  together  what  I  have  said  on  the 
topic  of  chastisement,  it  appears  to  me  my 
errors  were  worthy  of  pardon  ;  still,  neverthe- 
less, up  to  this  time,  they  have  received  punish- 
ment, and  it  seems  to  me,  if  new  punishments 
are  to  be  inflicted,  they  might  be  satisfied  with 
fewer  and  lighter  ones;  and  in  consideration 
of  the  pardon  which  I  give  to  my  enemies, 
might  regard  my  own  faults  with  greater  cle- 
mency." 

"  But  perhaps,"  he  continues,  "  the  serene 
Princes  intend  not  to  punish  but  to  revenge 
themselves  upon  me  : 


1  tantaene  animis  coelestibus  irseT 


God  forbid  that  such  a  wish  should  ever  have  a 
place  in  their  minds  or  such  a  thought  in  mine ; 
for,  as  the  wish  would  be  unworthy  of  their 


60 


greatness,  so  ought  I  to  think  them  incapable 
of  it." 

He  argues  that  anger  and  the  desire  of  re- 
venge belong  to  equals.  Achilles  was  enraged, 
but  it  was  with  Hector  and  Agamemnon.  Tur- 
nus  was  enraged,  but  it  was  with  ^Eneas.  Rage 
and  vengeance  should  have  no  place  from  a 
prince  to  a  subject.  After  digressing  to  entreat 
the  favor  of  the  pope  and  the  cardinals,  from 
whom  all  the  offices  of  Christian  charity  might 
be  expected,  TASSO  concludes  his  discourse 
with  an  earnest  and  pathetic  appeal  to  GON- 
ZAGA,  conjuring  him  by  the  mutual  friendship  of 
their  youth,  the  memory  of  past  benefits  and 
gratitude,  the  greatness  of  bis  friend's  mind, 
and  the  heaviness  of  his  own  misfortunes,  and 
by  every  other  topic  of  affectionate  entreaty 
he  can  use,  to  have  pity  on  and  intercede  for 
him,  as  well  with  the  lords  of  ESTE  as  with 
other  princes  and  sovereigns. 

Parts  of  this  composition,  even  thus  abridged, 
it  is  to  be  feared  have  proved  tedious  to  some 
of  our  readers.  But,  on  a  question  so  grave 
and  so  difficult  as  the  madness  or  sanity  of 


61 


TASSO,  it  would  be  inexcusable  to  slur  over 
any  material  portion  of  the  evidence. 

After  collecting  such  additional  important 
facts  as  his  prose  writings  afford  touching  this 
most  perplexed  and  perplexing  question,  if  the 
interest  of  our  subject  do  not  increase,  the  man- 
ner of  treating  it  may  at  least  be  varied,  for  it 
will  then  be  admissible  to  relieve  and  diversify 
the  dryness  of  our  inquiries,  by  apt  quotations 
from  the  "  RIME  EROICHE  e  MORALE."  With 
this  promise  our  readers'  patience  may  be  en- 
treated yet  a  little  longer. 

The  Discourse  to  Gonzaga  was  succeeded  by 
a  letter  to  his  friend,  bearing  date,  "  from  the 
prison  of  Sant'  Anna  in  the  month  of  May, 
1579." 

"  If,  by  what  I  first  wrote,"  he  commences, 
"  I  effected  nothing  else,  I  shook  off  my  own 
timidity  and  habituated  myself  to  argue  freely, 
and  you  to  listen  with  patience  and  attention." 

He  proceeds  to  assign  many  reasons  why 
SCIPIO  should  intercede  for  him,  and  reminding 
him  of  the  love  they  formerly  bore  each  other, 
he  adds :  "But  now,  if  you  are  such,  and  so 

VOL.  II.  6 


62 


disposed  to  me  no  more,  at  least  you  cannot 
deny  knowing  me  well,  and  being  in  part  the 
cause  of  my  misfortunes."* 

Taking  it  for  granted  that  the  PRINCES  of 
ESTE  are  greatly  incensed  with  him,  he  says, 
many  motives  should  urge  them  to  clemency  ; 
and  he  adduces  several  instances  of  its  being 
extended  to  more  serious  offences.  He  reminds 
GONZAGA  that  ALPHONSO  I.  magnanimously 
pardoned  those  who  sought  to  take  away  his 
life  ;  and  HERCULES,  his  son,  forgave  SCIPIO'S 
uncle,  who  without  provocation  intended  to  kill 
him ;  and  also  the  soldiers  who  came  to  Ferrara 
in  time  of  war  with  the  like  design.  He  argues 
that  his  friend,  in  not  undertaking  his  protec- 
tion, will  disable  his  own  judgment,  since  no 
one  knew  men  better,  or  had  loved  him  more. 

"  And  who,"  he  continues,  "  is  more  frank 
and  open  in  conversation  than  myself  ?  Per- 
haps if  I  had  not  been  so  I  might  have  avoided 
this  misery.  But  there  is  not,  nor  ever  was,  in 


*  Doubtless  alluding  to  his  having  attempted  to  draw  him 
into  the  service  of  the  MEDICI. 


63 


my  mind,  many  secrets  or  concealments,  but 
ever  on  my  brow,  and  on  my  tongue,  satisfac- 
tion as  plainly  as  discontent,  and  anger  as  well 
as  love  are  wont  to  manifest  themselves.  And 
if,  so  to  speak,  there  was  in  my  soul  any  cavern 
or  labyrinth  in  which  I  hid  part  of  my  troubles, 
(for  I  will  not  deny  having  always  endeavored 
to  conceal  my  scepticism,)  there  was  also  a  re- 
pository of  things  more  dear  than  such  as  are 
shown  to  all,  which  indeed  I  did  not  so  much 
discover  to  you  ever,  as  with  a  vain  familiarity 
I  often  hinted  their  existence."* 

Torquato  goes  on  to  say,  that  however  this 
may  be,  the  same  qualities  for  which  he  was 
once  held  worthy  of  esteem  still  exist,  and 
make  him  deserving  of  forgiveness,  and  of 
SCIPIO'S  intercession,  in  despite  of  the  discovery 
of  his  imperfections.  And  if  the  CARDINAL 
d'  ESTE  will  not  entreat  for  his  pardon,  nor  the 
PRINCESSES  of  FERRARA,  as  partakers  in  their 
brother's  injury,  and  for  other  reasons  displeased 


This  passage  is  remarkable. 


with  him,  nor  DON  ALPHONSO*  for  the  same 
cause,  nor  his  sons,  and  if  the  MARquEsst 
blames  his  indiscreet  return,  but  cannot,  or  will 
not  help  him,  and  his  old  friend  the  DUKE  of 
UBBINO  is  dissatisfied  with  him,  and  the  Car- 
dinal ALBANO,  and  others  whom  he  names,  for 
various  reasons  abandon  him,  why  should  not 
the  PRINCE  and  DUCHESS  of  MANTUA,  of  whom 
he  has  never  written,  or  spoken,  but  with  ex- 
treme reverence  and  affection,  why  should  not 
they  intercede  for  him  ?  "  And  how,"  he  pro- 
ceeds, "  can  the  DUCHESS  of  FERRARA,  daugh- 
ter of  the  one,  and  sister  of  the  other,  endure 
that  I  should  come  to  celebrate  her  nuptials 
with  sighs  and  lamentations,  and  that  the  sea- 
son of  mercy  should  become  to  me  a  time  of 
punishment,  the  opening  of  other  prisons  being 
the  signal  for  closing  mine  ?" 


*  Don  Alphonso  of  Este.  TASSO  alludes  more  than  once  to 
his  supposed  displeasure,  the  cause  of  which  I  have  not  been 
able  to  discover.  His  son,  Don  Ceesare,  on  the  contrary, 
always  favored  the  poet. 

t  The  Marquess  of  Este,  who  gave  Tasso  an  asylum  and 
protection  in  Turin,  and  attempted  to  dissuade  him  from  re- 
turning to  Ferrara. 


65 


A  long  enumeration  of  the  inducements 
princes  have  to  be  merciful  succeeds,  mingled 
with  arguments  against  such  imperfect  pardons 
as  are  really  only  a  change  of  punishment,  and 
complaints  of  his  own  hard  fortune,  and  the 
parsimony  of  the  great.  He  affirms,  that  be- 
tween the  princes  who  so  rigorously  punished, 
and  those  who  so  coldly  and  scantily  favored 
him,  he  knows  not  with  whom  he  has  the  least 
reason  to  be  satisfied.  "  Yet,"  he  continues, 
"  neither  do  I  call  the  first  cruel,  nor  the  last 
avaricious,  but  myself  doubly  unfortunate,  who 
in  the  abode  of  mercy  and  liberality  find  only 
rigor  and  penury."  And  to  be  silent  about  the 
princes  by  whom  he  was  punished,  "  How  is 
it  possible,"  he  asks,  "  that  the  Duke  of  Savoy 

could  ever  persuade  himself 

to  sell  a  favor  to  the  wretched,  and  profit  by 
the  mendicity  and  infirmity  of  one  who,  if  not 
innocent,  is  at  least  as  unfortunate  as  culpable." 
,.-..-  ....  "  And  how  is  it  possible  that 
the  DUKES  of  URBINO  and  MANTUA,  .... 
most  learned  princes,  can  draw  good  from  an 
author's  ill,  denying  him  even  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  his  writings  in  the  hands  of  men, 
which  is  allowed  to  all,  and  enjoyed  not  only 
6* 


66 


by  Ludovico  Castelvetro,  who  died  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  church,  but  by  arch-heretics,  and 
sowers  of  scandal  and  schism  ?" 

Leaving  princes,  he  directs  his  attention  to 
priests,  and  inquires  : 

"  If  the  Cardinal  de'  Medici  is  restrained 
from  interfering  in  his  behalf  by  respect  for  his 
brother,*  what  considerations  restrain  the  Car- 
dinal of  Este,  the  free  arbiter  of  his  actions  ? 

and  what  considerations  the 

others?" "  Cannot  one  be 

found,"  he  asks,  "  who,  imitating  Christ,  will 
chase  from  the  temple  the  buyers  and  sellers 
of  my  wretched  blood  ?" 

Reverting  to  his  friend,  "  But  they  will  say," 
he  continues,  "  that  you  loved  me  while  you 
thought  me  good,  and  now,  no  longer  believing 
me  so,  you  naturally  cast  me  off  from  your 
friendship  ;  I  speak  of  that  friendship  by  ex- 


*  Francis  I.,  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  at  that  time  angry 
with  TASSO,  and  upon  ill  terms  with  his  brother,  the  Cardinal 
FERDINAND  de'  MEDICI. 


67 


cellence,  which  may  exist  between  greatness 
like  yours,  and  humility  like  mine.  Most  hu- 
mane sir,  even  between  those  whose  friendship 
is  dissolved,  either  because  one  rises  greatly  in 
rank  and  worth,  or  the  other  becomes,  or  is 
discovered  to  be  wicked,  there  still  remain 
some  obligations  of  kindness  and  courtesy. 
Because  past  intercourse,  the  interchange  of 
benefits,  mutual  affection,  and  former  scenes, 
and  conversations,  grave  and  gay,  cannot  be 
driven  from  the  memory  without  cruelty.  And 
Aristotle  holds,  that  when  our  vices  admit  of 
remedy  or  correction,  a  true  friend  ought  not  to 
abandon  us,  or  refuse  us  help  and  favor  —  a 
precept  entirely  conformable  to  Christian  cha- 
rity. And  it  seems  to  me  my  disposition  is 
such,  that  I  would  now  of  myself  always 
choose  good  and  reject  evil.  But  I  will  not 
affirm  I  have  been  seduced  into  the  latter  by 
the  hope  of  ease,  and  quiet,  and  health,  things 
dear  to  men,  nor  that  I  have  been  beguiled  by 
pleasures  to  which  I  am  naturally  very  much 
inclined,  because  perhaps  my  opinion  may  be 
false.  But  I  will  say,  that  I  was  driven  from 
good  by  bitter  attacks  and  dire  necessity  ;  for 
Virtue,  who  presented  herself  to  the  youthful 


68 


Hercules,  did  not  show  me,  as  she  did  him, 
merely  a  steep,  rugged,  and  difficult  ascent, 
but  struck  me  with  vile  and  abject  indigence, 
and  miserable  infirmity.  And  thence  did  I  turn 
aside,  and  incline  to  follow  pleasure,  her  enemy, 
returning  to  my  old  habits  of  life,  and  perhaps 
worse,  tempted  by  enjoyment  certainly,  but 
more  terrified  by  the  fear  of  languishing 
wretchedly  a  long  time  in  this  hospital,  where, 
to  my  misfortune,  I  now  find  myself ;  and  if  some 
courteous  kindness  does  not  reach,  and  recall 
me  to  the  better  way,  I  shall  not  quit  the  worse 
while  means  and  opportunity  of  doing  so  are 
wanting,  which  I  would  myself  go.  in  search 
of,  if  I  knew  how." 

"Me  miserable!  Besides  two  epic  poems 
on  most  virtuous  and  noble  arguments,  it  was 
my  intention  to  have  written  four  tragedies,  the 
plans  of  which  were  already  formed,  and  many 
useful  and  excellent  prose  works,  wherein  I 
would  have  so  united  philosophy  and  eloquence, 
as  to  leave  a  glorious  and  ever-during  memory 
behind  me  in  the  world.  But  now,  borne 
down  by  so  much  misery,  all  thoughts  of  honor 
and  of  fame  abandon  me.  Too  happy  should 
I  deem  myself,  if,  without  suspicion,  I  might 


69 


quench  the  drought  that  perpetually  torments 
me,  and  beneath  some  humble  roof,  like  any 
ordinary  man,  lead  a  life  of  freedom,  if  not 
well,  which  I  never  can  be  more,  at  all  events 
not  so  afflicted  by  infirmity ;  if  not  honored  yet 
not  abominated,  and,  if  denied  the  laws  of  man, 
allowed  at  least  those  of  brutes,  who  in  the 
streams  and  at  the  springs  may  freely  slake 
their  thirst,  while  I  (let  me  repeat  it)  am  con- 
sumed by  mine.*  Nor  do  I  dread  so  much  the 
greatness  of  the  evil,  as  its  duration,  which 
presents  itself  horribly  to  my  thoughts,  more 
especially  as  in  such  circumstances  I  am  unable 
to  apply  myself  or  compose.  And  my  wretch- 
edness is  greatly  augmented  by  the  fear  of  per- 
petual imprisonment,  and  the  indignity  to  which 
I  must  familiarize  myself,  the  squalor  of  my 
beard,  and  hair,  and  clothes,  and  the  sordid 
filth  and  misery  around  me;  but,  above  all,  by 
solitude,  my  natural  and  cruel  enemy,  which 
sometimes  so  distressed  me,  even  in  my  best 
days,  that  I  went  in  search  of  company  at  un- 
seasonable hours.  And  sure  I  am,  that  if  she 
who  has  so  little  returned  my  affection  beheld 

*  See  the  canzone  to  the  princesses,  post. 


70 


my  condition  and  my  sorrows,  she  would  have 
pity  on  me!" 

TASSO  shortly  afterwards,  conceding  to  his 
friend  that  he  may  in  a  great  degree  have  told 
the  truth,  reminds  him  that,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  cannot  deny  having  seriously  hurt,  when  he 
meant  to  help  him,  and  rendered  his  errors  almost 
inevitable  by  inconsiderate  kindness.  Hence 
arises  a  new  claim  on  his  bounty,  for  the  volun- 
tary correction  of  an  involuntary  wrong,  which 
the  poet  entreats  Gonzaga  to  allow,  "and leav- 
ing all  the  bitter,  to  gather,  like  a  bee  from 
flowers,  the  sweets  of  each  prince's  favor,  form- 
ing therefrom  the  honey  so  much  longed  for, 
after  the  gall  and  wormwood  of  his  melancholy 
prison."* 

*  Letteye,  torn.  Jv.,  p.  320,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


71 


CHAPTER    III. 

DEPARTING  from  the  strictly  chronological 
order  heretofore  generally  observed,  with  a 
view  of  presenting  at  once  all  the  most  material 
proofs  respecting  TASSO'S  sanity  in  the  early 
part  of  his  imprisonment,  some  events  other- 
wise important  must  be  passed  over,  to  which 
it  may  be  expedient  subsequently  to  return.  If 
it  shall  appear  that  he  was  not  mad  when  first 
shut  up  in  the  hospital  of  Sant'  Anna,  these  oc- 
currences will  find  an  appropriate  place  in 
investigating  hereafter  the  causes  of  his  im- 
prisonment. For  the  present,  therefore,  our 
inquest  of  lunacy  will  be  prosecuted  still  a  little 
farther. 

About  a  year  after  the  date  of  the  letter  to 
GONZAGA  last  quoted,  TASSO  wrote  at  great 
length  to  his  friend  the  MARQUESS  BUONCOM- 
PAGNO,  then  general  of  the  armies  of  the  church, 
in  explanation  of  his  conduct,  and  especially  of 


72 


his  religious  opinions.*  It  would  seem  that  in 
the  interval  some  correspondence  of  the  poet's 
with  the  EMPEROR,  and  the  PRINCES  of  Ger- 
many, had  been  divulged ,  which  greatly  inflamed 
the  suspicions  of  his  heresy,  or  at  all  events 
exposed  him  to  the  charge  of  double  dealing. 
The  object  of  his  letter  to  BUONCOMPAGNO  is  to 
relieve  himself  from  these  imputations,  to  affirm 
the  integrity  of  his  faith,  and  beg  the  Marquess's 
interposition  with  his  HOLINESS,  the  SACRED 
COLLEGE,  and  the  DUKE  of  FERRARA.  The 
bare  mention  of  it3  topics,  and  its  length,  will 
perhaps  draw  a  sigh  from  the  impatient  reader, 
already  drugged  with  TASSO'S  theology.  Yet 
much  of  it  is  "  germane  to  the  matter,"  and 
may  not  be  omitted.  An  abridgment,  though 
less  tedious,  will  be  drier;  but  aridity  sur- 
rounds us,  let  us  hasten  our  march.t 

"  Can  it  be  true,"  he  inquires,  "  that  both 


*  The  Marquess  Buoncompagno  was  a  nephew  of  Pope 
Gregory  XIII.,  and  had  shown  Tasso  many  flattering  civili- 
ties during  his  visit  to  Rome  in  1575.  Serassi,  Vita,  210. 

t    :    .     .    "  Sauver  1"  aridit6  du  sujet  par  la  rapidite  de  la 
marche."  —  JBeaumarchais. 


73 


the  Pope  and  the  Emperor  unite  to  exclude  him 
from  communion  with  mankind  ?  Has  the 
rigor  of  the  illustrious  Cardinal  of  ESTE  more 
influence  with  them  than  his  humble  prayers  ?* 
And  if  the  wings  of  his  faith  are  not  strong 
enough  to  bear  his  supplications  to  the  heads  of 
the  church  and  the  empire,  can  they  not  at 
least  reach  the  DUKE  of  FERRARA  f  But  he  is 
sensible  he  cannot  hope  favor  for  the  truth  until 
he  has  purged  himself  from  all  suspicion  of 
falsehood,  or  at  least  of  contradiction,  and  he 
will,  therefore,  attempt  to  show  there  was  no 
inconsistency  between  what  he  declared  to  the 
inquisition,  and  what  he  wrote  to  the  Emperor. 
"  He  said  before  the  holy  office  at  Bologna, 
that  he  had  entertained  philosophical  doubts  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  creation  of  the 
world,  and  of  other  things ;  and  that  he  had 
believed  the  infinite  mercy  of  Christ  might  save 
those  who  were  unworthy  of  paradise  merely 
from  want  of  faith.  Yet  he  also  confessed  he 


*  In  the  interval  between  the  letter  to  Gonzaga  and  to  Buon- 
compagno,  (1579,  1580,)  TASSO,  it  'seems,  became  aware,  or 
suspected,  that  Cardinal  d'  Este  obstructed  his  liberation.  To 
this  opinion  he  appears,  for  the  most  part,  to  hare  subsequently 
adhered. 

VOL.  II.  7 


74 


had  inclined  to  some  Lutheran  and  Jewish 
opinions.  But  in  writing  to  the  Emperor*  he 
said  he  had  Judaized,  that  he  did  not  believe 
in  the  authority  of  the  Pope,  and  in  many  re- 
spects was  more  disposed  to  the  doctrines  of 
Luther  than  those  of  the  church.  These  asser- 
tions, he  says,  are  reconcileable.  He  might  in- 
deed excuse  himself  by  the  fact  that  his  ex- 
amination before  the  inquisition  in  Bologna 
was  very  short,  and  not  very  careful,  and 
therefore  it  would  not  be  remarkable  if  he  had 
omitted  something  from  inadvertence,  or  defect 
of  memory,  or  fear,  or  shame.  But  he  has  a 
better  defence,  and  it  is  this.  There  is  no  con- 
tradiction in  what  he  said.  Before  the  holy 
office  he  spoke  of  the  form  of  his  faith,  and 


*  I  have  attempted  to  obtain  a  copy  of  TASSO'S  letter  or  me- 
morial to  the  Emperor.  Search  has  been  made  for  the  origina 
among  the  archives  at  Vienna,  but  thus  far  in  vain.  To 
Baron  VON  HAMMER  PURGSTALL,  the  distinguished  orientalist 
and  scholar,  I  am  greatly  indebted  for  his  kind  exertions  to 
favor  my  inquiries,  and  cannot  permit  this  opportunity  of  re- 
turning him  my  grateful  acknowledgments  to  escape  me.  To 
Mr.  SCHWARZ,  the  American  consul  at  Vienna,  who  was 
obliging  enough  to  interest  himself  in  them  also,  I  confess  my 
obligations  with  pleasure. 


75 


therefore  did  not  say  he  was  either  a  Jew  or  a 
Lutheran.  In  writing  to  the  Emperor  he  spoke 
of  the  substance  of  his  opinions,  as  that  God 
might  save  just  unbelievers,  that  the  Pope 
could  not  liberate  souls  from  purgatory,  etc. 
Thus  as  his  doubts  had  arisen  from  the  writings 
of  philosophers,  not  the  arguments  of  heretics, 
or  comments  on  the  Scriptures,  it  could  not  be 
said  he  was  either  Lutheran  or  Jew.  Yet  as 
his  opinions  in  many  respects  resembled  those 
of  both,  it  was  not  wrong  that  in  writing  to  the 
Emperor  he  should  use  general  terms,  as  ora- 
tors often  do,  and  with  this  intention.  The 
unkindness  he  had  met  with  from  the  church, 
always  more  a  step-dame  than  a  mother  to 
him,  made  him  incline  to  the  imperial  party. 
Without  entirely  separating  himself  from  the 
Catholic  faith,  therefore,  he  desired  to  recom- 
mend himself  to  the  electors.  And  as  some  of 
them  had  renounced  Catholicism,  not  on  ac- 
count of  philosophical  doubts,  but  the  authority 
of  scripture  misinterpreted,  and  he  wished  to 
move  their  compassion,  it  was  not  expedient 
for  him  fully  to  explain,  that  he  had  been  first 
secretly,  and  then  openly  estranged  from  the 
church,  not  intending  to  be  separated,  and  for 


76 


reasons  very  different  from  theirs.  And  if  they 
had  promptly  come  to  his  succor,  perhaps  he 
might  not  have  cared  to  be  more  explicit,  be- 
lieving that  concealment  which  does  no  hurt  to 
another,  may  be  practised  to  benefit  one's  self. 
His  silence,  he  had  hoped,  might  also  avail  him 
in  this  way.  The  persons  who  accused  him  to 
the  inquisition,  as  he  supposed,  were  Luca  Sca- 
labrino,  a  citizen  of  Ferrara,  and  Ascanio 
Giraldini,  by  birth  a  Jew,  but  ennobled  by  the 
Duke  for  his  services,  influenced,  as  he 
imagines,  by  passion  or  interest,  or  deceived 
by  the  belief  that  he  had  really  apostatized. 
Cardinal  d'  ESTE,  he  knew,  had  the  reputation 
of  Scalabrino  very  much  at  heart.  Not  to 
offend  him,  therefore,  in  the  person  of  a  de- 
pendant, and  at  the  same  time  to  render  the 
German  princes  more  favorable  to  himself,  he 
did  not  think  it  important  to  refute  decisively 
the  ignorance  or  malice  of  his  accusers,  if  in- 
deed there  was  any  falsehood  in  the  evidence 
they  gave,  of  which  he  is  not  certain,  and 
speaks  only  from  conjecture.  If  he  afterwards 
broke  forth  into  some  extravagances  against  the 
Cardinal  d'  Este,  he  could  affirm  on  oath  it  was 
in  no  respect  from  any  bad  opinion  of  the 


77 


purity  of  his  life  or  his  faith,  nor  from  hatred 
or  revenge.  He  enters  at  length  into  the  causes, 
real  or  pretended,  of  the  Cardinal's  anger. 
They  are,  in  short,  that  not  content  to  be 
honored  as  a  noble  prince  of  Italy,  he  was  dis- 
pleased because  TASSO  would  not  distinguish 
him  above  the  kings  of  France  and  Spain."  .  . 
"  Above  all  things,"  he  continues,  "  he  is  sur- 
prised that  the  King  of  France,  the  champion 
of  Christianity,  and  Cardinal  d'  Este,  a  cardinal 
of  the  Catholic  church,  should  attempt  to  sepa- 
rate him  from  the  faith  of  Christ  — an  opinion, 
or,  if  you  will,  an  imagination  of  his,  which,  if 
not  true,  has  greatly  the  appearance  of  truth." 
"Because,"  he  proceeds,  " I  returned  to  Fer- 
rara  under  the  authority  of  the  Cardinal  Al- 
bano,  ....  who  ordered  a  great  deal 
to  be  written  to  me  about  Cardinal  d'  Este's 
affection,  insomuch  that,  according  to  his 
opinion,  I  had  more  to  promise  myself  from  the 
Cardinal  than  from  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  or  the 
noble-minded  Cardinal  de'  Medici.*  On  my 


*  Ferdinand  de'  Medici,  who  as  Cardinal  gave  many  signs 
of  a  more  elevated  character  than  he  afterwards  maintained  as 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  under  the  title  of  Ferdinand  I. 
7* 


78 


arrival  in  Ferrara,  I  was  not  received  by  any 
one  who  depended  on  his  serene  highness,  but 
by  the  dependents  of  the  Cardinal,  who,  how- 
ever, fulfilled  none  of  the  assurances  given  me 
by  Cardinal  Albano,  and  this  led  to  the  deter- 
mination for  which  I  was  imprisoned." 

"I  designed  that  the  Duke  should  cause  me 
to  be  confined  in  his  own  prison,  but  I  was  not 
put  there,  nor  in  that  of  the  Bishop  or  of  the 
friars,  where  naturally  I  should  have  been  sent 
if  the  inquisition  had,  or  claimed  any  power 
over  me ;  but  in  the  prison  of  the  hospital  of  Sant' 
Anna,  where  neither  the  Duke,  as  a  temporal 
prince,  nor  the  Cardinal  nor  the  Bishop,  as  mi- 
nisters of  the  Pope,  detain  me,  but  the  Cardinal 
only,  as  Don  Louis  of  Este,  exercising  a  con- 
trol over  my  person,  which  he  cannot  have  oth- 
erwise than  by  usurping  the  authority  of  his 
brother,  who  is  misinformed.  Which,  whether 
he  does  usurp  or  not,  as  to  what  regards  the 
body,  I  leave  your  excellency  to  be  informed 
by  Signor  Don  Agostino  Mosti,  the  prior  of  this 
hospital,  a  lover  of  religion,  always  zealously 
persecuting  heretics  for  the  sake  of  Christ,  and 
a  gentleman  of  such  worth,  learning,  and  cour- 
tesy t  that  neither  from  want  of  will,  feeling,  or 


79 


judgment,  would  he  have  treated  me  so  harshly, 
had  he  not  been  commanded.  This  only  will 
I  say,  that  during  the  fourteen  months  I  have 
been  sick  in  this  hospital,  I  have  had  none  of 
the  conveniences  usually  given  to  common  peo- 
ple, much  less  those  due  to  gentlemen  like  my- 
self. And  the  medicines  of  the  soul  have  been 
denied  to  me,  as  well  as  those  of  the  body.  For, 
although  there  is  a  chaplain  duly  attentive  I 
presume,  he  has  never  been  to  see  me  in  my 
illness  nor  shown  me  any  kind  of  charity,  nor 
has  he,  although  I  have  often  entreated  it,  al- 
lowed me  to  confess  or  communicate;  and  if 
he  deemed  me  unworthy  to  sit  at  the  board  of 
angels  and  partake  of  the  body  of  Christ,  he 
ought  at  least  to  have  attempted  my  conver- 
sion, arid  peradventure,  would  not  have  found 
me  obstinate.  But  not  having  done  so,  what 
am  I  to  think,  but  that  the  Cardinal  will  not 
allow  me  to  be  a  Catholic  ?  either  because  he 
is  angry  with  me  for  making  stronger  demon- 
strations of  Catholicism  in  France  than  it  ap- 
peared to  some  of  his  counsellors  I  ought  to 
have  done,  or  to  have  an  excuse  for  denying 
me  a  place  in  his  court  suitable  to  my  merit,  and 
not  rewarding  me  for  what  I  wrote  in  praise  of 


80 


his  family,  which,  if  not  rewarded  by  the  Duke, 
should  naturally  have  been  recompensed  by 
him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  if  the  Cardinal,  so 
liberal  to  others,  is  parsimonious  to  me,  I  can 
only  complain  of  Fortune,  who,  though  she 
cannot  make  me  change  my  nature,  can  change, 
to  my  injury,  the  nature  of  a  generous  prince. 
But  that  he  should  deny  me  the  spiritual  trea- 
sures which  it  belongs  to  the  Pope  to  distribute, 
cannot  be  charged  on  Fortune." 

He  insists,  with  great  reason,  that  if  he  has 
heretofore  been  careless  in  matters  of  religion 
when  he  might  have  enjoyed  its  benefits  like 
others,  that  is  no  excuse  for  denying  them 
to  him  now,  since  his  carelessness  was  never 
accompanied  by  contempt.  He  especially 
complains  that  communion  is  refused  him  ; 
mentions  incidentally  his  religious  education  by 
the  Jesuits,  and  the  early  age  at  which  he  first 
communicated,  etc.,  and  then,  reverting  to  his 
after  doubts,  continues,  "And  certainly,  though 
I  do  not  deny  having  questioned  the  real 
presence,  no  scriptural  quotation  made  by 
the  heretics,  whose  books  I  never  read,  im- 


81 


bued  me  with  those  doubts ;  but  the  same 
causes  that  made  me  doubtful  of  the  creation 
of  the  world,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and 
the  omnipotence  of  God." 

Being  convinced  of  the  latter  by  the  innu- 
merable wonders  of  nature  and  a  thousand  ex- 
ternal proofs,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  believing 
the  trinity,  free-will,  and  the  real  presence. 

"  Since  your  excellency"  (it  is  thus  he  con- 
cludes) "has  heard  the  truth  of  my  faith,  and 
the  concordance  of  my  apparently  discordant 
words,  it  remains  that  you  favor  me  with  the 
most  clement  Duke  of  Ferrara,  by  the  mani- 
festation of  the  truth  and  the  granting  of  the 
graces  I  have  solicited,  before  my  life,  already 
worn  more  by  infirmity  than  by  years,  shall  be 
still  farther  consumed,  of  which  there  does  not 
still  remain  so  little  but  that  I  may  reasonably 
think  of  gathering  some  fruit  from  my  labors, 
and  enjoying  some  repose  after  so  many 
troubles  and  sufferings.  I  pray  your  excel- 
lency also,  for  your  interposition  with  his  holi- 
ness and  the  cardinals  his  ministers,  and  hum- 


82 


bly  recommend  to  you  the  health  of  my  soul 
and  of  this  miserable  body.  From  the  prison 
of  Sant'  Anna,  this  17th  day  of  May,  1580."* 

*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  24,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


83 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IN  the  beginning  of  his  imprisonment,  it  would 
appear  that  TASSO  wrote  many  supplications, 
memorials,  and  justificatory  pieces,  intended  to 
facilitate  his  release,  and  not  improbably  retard- 
ing it.*  Two  of  these  were  addressed  to  the 
nobles  and  deputies  of  the  people  of  Naples. 
The  first,  if  it  still  exist,  has  not  yet  been  made 
public.  In  the  second,  he  labors  to  excuse 
himself,  touching  the  more  serious  of  those  re- 
proaches from  which  he  had  not  before  exhibited 
a  full  justification,  adopting  with  his  country- 
men a  nobler  and  bolder  style  of  eloquence  than 
would  have  been  endured  by  the  princes  of  his 
time.  It  has  been  printed  without  any  indication 
of  the  date,  but  must  have  been  written  between 
the  middle  of  1579  and  the  first  half  of  1581. 


*  Such  is  Black's  conjecture,  who  taxes  the  poet  with  im- 
prudence. Vol.  ii.,  31,  32,  6'5,  99. 


84 


TORQUATO'S  father,  it  should  be  premis- 
ed, had  been  secretary  to  SANSOVINO,  Prince 
of  SALERNO.  One  of  the  immediate  causes  of 
that  nobleman's  disasters  was  the  part  he  took 
in  the  popular  discontents  of  Naples,  when  the 
Viceroy  TOLEDO,  to  whom  he  was  personally 
obnoxious,  endeavored  to  introduce  the  inquisi- 
tion, and  the  people  tumultuously  resisted  it. 
A  deputation  to  the  Emperor  was  resolved  on 
by  the  malcontents,  and  SANSOVINO  chosen  de- 
puty on  the  part  of  the  nobles.  BERNARDO 
TASSO  counselled  him  to  accept  this  perilous 
honor,  and  the  coldness  of  his  reception  at 
court,  subsequent  disgusts,  and  an  attempt  on 
his  life,  instigated  by  the  son  of  the  Viceroy, 
drove  him  from  his  allegiance  into  the  service 
of  the  King  of  France.  Bernardo,  in  following 
the  fortunes  of  a  patron  who  proved  himself  in 
the  end  unworthy  and  ungrateful,  was  included 
among  his  adherents,  attainted  of  treason,  and 
subjected  to  forfeiture.  His  youthful  and  de- 
voted wife,  not  allowed  to  share  the  exile  of  her 
husband,  died  prematurely  of  grief,  and  her 
brothers  took  possession  of  her  dowry,  which 
they  withheld  from  her  children.  TORQUATO, 


85 


after  his  liberation  from  Sant'  Anna,  sought  to 
recover  a  part  of  it,  and  often,  but  in  vain,  ap- 
pealed to  the  royal  clemency  for  the  restoration 
of  his  father's  effects. 

Among  many  a  thrilling  tale  with  which  the 
feudal  times  abounded,  of  vassals  and  their 
families  involved  in  the  ruin  of  their  ambitious 
lords,  BERNARDO  TASSO'S  must  ever  hold  a 
place.  We  may  not  stop  to  tell  it  here.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that  though  greater  horrors  may 
readily  be  found,  the  devastation  of  human  af- 
fections and  of  domestic  happiness  has  seldom 
been  more  complete.  The  warmth  of  TOR- 
QUATO'S  expostulation  -with  the  Neapolita^ 
therefore,  was  not  unreasonable. 

"  To  the  Nobles  and  Deputies  of  the  People  of 
Naples,*  Torquato  Tasso,  son  of  Bernardo 
Tasso  and  of  Portia  Rossi. 

"  I  know  not,  lords  and  deputies  of  Naples, 
whether  I  ought  most  to  glory  in  being  born  of 


*  "  Seggi"  has  been  translated  "  deputies."     The  seggi  of 

Naples  were  originally  nothing  more  than  seats  in  the  public 

square,  where  the  principal  citizens  repaired  to  converse.     In 

process  of  time,  the  term  was  applied  to  designate  the  persons 

VOL.  II.  8 


86 


your  blood  and  on  your  soil,  or  you  to  blush  at  call- 
ing me  a  son  of  hers.  For,  if  the  greatness,  no- 
bility, worth,  beauty,  and  courtesy  of  a  country 
reflect  honor  on  her  children,  I  have  enough  to 
be  proud  of.  On  the  other  hand,  I  will  not  say, 
that  if  the  crimes,  baseness,  or  infamy  of  a 
citizen,  can  disgrace  his  birth-place,  you  have 
reason  to  be  ashamed  that  I  draw  my  maternal 
origin  from  yours,  since  in  me  there  are  no 
faults  or  vices  the  like  of  which,  and  even 
greater,  have  not  been  found  in  many  who 
filled  high  places  in  your  state  and  were 
thought  worthy  the  honor  of  citizenship,  even 
by  yourselves.  But  I  will  say,  rather,  that 
you  should  be  ashamed  of  having  left  me  a 
prey  to  the  tyranny  and  cruelly  of  those  who 
have  been  pleased  to  exercise  them  fiercely 
upon  me,  and  that  had  you  been  to  me  what 
you  ought,  it  is  more  likely  /  should  have  con- 
tributed to  the  improvement  of  law  than  its 
abuse;  to  the  revival  of  old  Italian  virtue, 
rather  than  inhuman  barbarism  ;  to  the  correc- 


chosen  by  the  people  to  exercise  certain  political  powers  in 
their  behalf.  See  COLLETTA  Storia  di  Napoli,  torn,  i.,  p.  414,  ed 
di  Capolago,  1834. 


87 


tion  of  errors,  instead  of  their  increase.  In 
short,  /  might  have  proved  myself  one  not  un- 
worthy to  have  counselled  you  in  what  manner, 
consistently  with  your  own  content  and  honor, 
you  might  have  obeyed  your  sovereign,  and 
you  would  not  have  forced  me  into  the 
slavish  service,  I  will  not  say  of  a  Busiris,  a 
Phalaris,  or  a  Dionysius,  but  of  Necessity,  a 
sterner  tyrant  than  them  all,  or  any  other  on 
the  roll  of  time.  You  forced  me,  Neapolitans ! 
when  you  did  not  favor  me ;  you  did  me  wrong 
when  you  denied  me  justice  ;  you  drove  me 
from  you  when  you  invited  me  not.  And 
whom  did  you  thus  banish  ?  One  who  fled  for 
shelter  to  your  city  like  a  felon  bent  on  crime  ? 
Or  one,  rather,  who  sought  refuge  amid  her 
temples  and  her  altars,  if  not  with  the  conscious 
honesty  of  his  past  life,  at  least  with  an  honest 
purpose  for  his  life  to  come  ?  To  me,  Neapo- 
litans! the  courts  of  justice  have  been  the 
haunts  of  barrators;  churches  and  convents, 
the  dens  of  thieves  ;  friends  and  relations,  tor- 
mentors and  executioners.  I  come,  then,  not 
so  much  to  excuse  my  faults,  of  which  you 
were  the  cause,  as  to  accuse  you  of  the  neces- 
sity that  led  me  to  commit  them.  Not  like 


88 


LYSIAS  or  HYPERIDES  with  the  Athenians,  to 
flatter  and  cajole,  but  like  another  MILO  before 
his  judges,  nowise  repentant  of  the  deed,  and 
intrepidly  regarding  others'  tears,  (if,  indeed, 
there  be  any  to  shed  one  for  me,)  or  like  a  new 
SOCRATES,  to  reason  with  you,  more  of  your 
duties  than  my  faults.  Prepare  yourselves, 
then,  Neapolitans  !  to  listen  to  my  words  with 
the  same  lofty  composure  wherewith  I  prepare 
myself  to  receive  whatever  of  good  or  of  evil,  of 
reward  or  of  punishment,  awaits  me  as  the  re- 
compense of  my  merits  or  my  crimes. 

"  There  are  two  periods  of  my  life  during 
which  my  actions  may  be  considered.  One 
spent  in  the  service  of  Don  ALPHONSO  ofEsTE, 
Duke  of  Ferrara,  the  other  passed  in  various  wan- 
derings after  my  flight  to  Naples.  Because  the 
third  and  earlier  portion,  while  I  was  with  the 
Lord  Cardinal  d'  ESTE,  may  reasonably  sink 
into  oblivion  with  my  boyhood,  where  also  his 
avarice  to  me,  unwonted  towards  others,  may 
be  allowed  to  rest. 

"  The  principal  charges  against  me,  and  rea- 
sons alleged,  as  I  believe,  for  secluding  me  from 
my  species,  are  also  two,  discordant  and  con- 
tradictory. The  one  is  my  first  denial  of  the 


89 


faults  I  had  committed,  and  especially  my  want 
of  faith.  The  other  is  my  having  subsequently 
exaggerated  them,  making  myself  guilty  even 
of  things  whereof  I  was  innocent. 

"  These  imputations  I  will  so  endeavor  to 
repel,  that  my  proceedings  will  not  be  so  much 
condemned  by  the  Supreme  Judge  of  all,  as 
the  proceedings  of  those  judges  who  departed 
far  more  from  the  common  rules  of  justice,  than 
I  from  the  ordinary  custom  of  criminals."  .  .  . 

"  If  the  circumstances  of  denying,  and  then 
of  aggravating  my  faults,  are  sufficiently  ex- 
cused, my  faults  themselves  alone  remain  in 
naked  simplicity ;  and  having,  as  it  appears  to 
me,  sufficiently  excused  them  in  my  defence  to 
the  Ernperor,  I  will  not  undertake  any  new 
justification."* 

"  Let  us  come,  then,  to  the  reasons  and  forms 
of  the  judgment. 

"  What  culprit  Neapolitan  was  ever  re- 
proached for  denying  the  accusations  against 
him,  or  palliating  and  excusing  them,  or  recri- 


*  This  reference  gives  an  additional  interest  to  bis  letter  to 
the  EMPEROR,  which  it  has  already  been  mentioned  has  been 
sought  for  in  vain. 
8* 


90 


minating,  and  making  the  blame  of  his  adver- 
saries a  part  of  his  defence  ?  If,  then,  when  I 
went  before  the  inquisition,  I  did  not  confess 
all  the  secrets  of  my  conscience,  and  said  any 
thing  of  the  malignity  of  my  accusers,  and  my 
own  good  intentions,  or  my  piety,  Christian  or 
civil,  I  committed  no  error  not  committed  by 
all ;  I  used  no  art  but  what  is  used  by  every 
one,  I  adopted  no  defence  save  that  which  na- 
ture herself  teaches  to  the  inexperienced  and 
unlearned.  May  not  the  accused  employ  ex- 
traordinary means  to  defend  himself,  when  ex- 
traordinary proceedings  are  used  to  inculpate 
him  ?  If  I  denied  my  offence,  who  denies  not 
his  ?  If  I  accused  my  enemies,  who  does  not 
accuse  them?  If  I  availed  myself  of  my 
prince's  favor,  who  in  such  cases  omits  to  do  so  ? 
The  holy  office,  Neapolitans,  is  not  the  Areo- 
pagus, where  it  was  forbidden  to  depart  from 
the  merits  of  the  case ;  the  less  so,  because 
everything  belongs  to  the  merits,  where  a 
man's  whole  life  is  inquired  into.  I  see  not, 
therefore,  why,  like  a  new  Areopagite,  the 
Dominican  friar  should  be  wroth  with  me  for 
quitting  the  merits  of  the  cause,  which  at  first 
I  declined  doing,  or  why  he  should  refuse  me 


91 

such  counsel  and  defence  as  is  allowed  to  all. 
Perhaps  because  he  thought  me  guilty  ?  But 
is  he  not  aware  that  the  judgments  of  men  are 
fallible,  and  that  God  alone  knows  the  heart,  a 
power  peculiar  to  himself,  from  which  angels 
and  devils  are  alike  excluded  ?  This  he  ought 
to  know  as  a  theologian  ;  and  as  a  jurist  he 
should  know,  or  as  a  judge  have  heard  from 
jurists,  that  to  the  common  forms  of  judgment 
the  confession  of  the  accused  is  indispensable.* 
And  as  a  philosopher,  if  he  be  a  philosopher, 
he  should  know,  it  is  belter  for  ten  guilty  to 
escape,  than  one  innocent  to  suffer.  Not  allow- 
ing me  defence,  therefore,  he  forgot  what  be- 
longed to  the  judge,  the  theologian,  and  the 
philosopher.  But,  above  all,  he  forgot  HUMAN- 
ITY —  of  CHARITY  I  speak  not ;  in  convents, 
perhaps,  it  is  like  SILENCE,  to  be  found  only  on 
the  wall."t 

Enlarging  on  these  topics  he  inquired,  where 
is  eloquence  prohibited  ?     Where   the  means 


*  According  to  the  civil  law. 

t  SILKNCE  is  frequently  seen  in  convents  inscribed  on  the 
walls  of  the  refectory. 


92 


that  move  compassion?  Where  are  not  the 
tears  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan  pitied,  and 
something  pardoned  to  the  infirmity  of  age,  or 
the  promise  of  youth  ?  And  where,  on  the 
contrary,  is  not  pride,  perfidy,  and  treason,  and 
cruelty,  odious  and  abhorred  ?  "  Wretch  that 
I  am  !"  he  exclaims  ;  "  to  me  only  are  all  the 
affections  of  humanity  forbidden."  "  And 
what  art,"  he  continues,  "  was  used  by  me,  O 
just  God  !  not  perfectly  consistent  with  justice ! 
What  did  I  say  that  was  not  firmly  believed  ?". 

"  Nor  because  I  concealed  any 

part  of  the  truth,  should  I  the  less  be  reputed 
a  philosopher,  since  who  are  more  accustomed 
than  philosophers  to  secresy  and  concealment 

for  the  benefit  of  others  ?" 

"  But  what  shall  be  said  of  the  second  time 
that  I  went  before  the  inquisition  at  BOLOGNA  ? 
Was  the  inquisitor  able,  with  all  his  artifice, 
to  draw  from  me  a  single  falsehood  against  my 
adversaries  ?  Is  it  not  unreasonable,  then, 
Neapolitans,  that  falsehood  should  prevail 
against  one  who  would  not  seek  aid  from  false- 
hood ?  And  reasonable  that  all  which  is  doubt- 
ful and  uncertain  should  not  be  believed  to  his 
prejudice,  and  a  part  even  of  what  is  certain, 


93 


attributed  to  the  weakness  of  good  nature  ?  So 
much  for  the  first  part,  that  of  denying  my 
faults,  and  especially  my  unbelief.  Let  us  pass 
to  the  second,  that  of  aggravating  them.  This 
of  itself,  Neapolitans,  is  not  a  crime,  but  only 
so  from  the  circumstances,  or  evil  intention  at- 
tending it.  For,  otherwise,  in  the  prayers 
ordered  by  the  church,  it  would  be  wrong  for 
men  to  confess  some  sins,  which  perhaps  they 
have  not  committed.  Besides,  there  have  been 
many  who,  by  taking  on  themselves  the  faults 
of  their  friends,  or  their  lords,  have  been  thought 
more  worthy  of  praise  than  blame,  and  of  re- 
ward than  punishment.  It  remains,  then,  to  be 
seen,  whether  I  aggravated  my  faults  with  evil 
intention,  or  the  circumstances  were  such  as  to 
render  the  act  culpable.  When  in  the  prison 
of  the  castle  of  Ferrara,  I  begged  my  life  of 
the  Duke's  clemency,  Neapolitans,  I  used  such 
art  only  as  was  admissible  with  a  magnanimous 
prince  like  him,  desirous  of  imitating  the  noble 
acts  of  his  ancestors.  And  I  used  it  with  rea- 
son, because  I  was  not  writing  to  a  mere  judge, 
but  to  a  prince.  Addressing  a  judge  I  ought 
to  have  demanded  my  life  only  of  his  justice ; 
but  appealing  to  a  prince,  I  might  solicit  it  as 


94 


a  mercy.  If,  then,  I  denied  to  the  minister 
what  I  confessed  to  the  Duke,  I  did  no  more 
than  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  case  made 
necessary  and  proper.  Nor  was  I  inconsistent 
with  myself,  since  the  minister  I  treated  like  a 
minister,  while  I  honored  the  prince  as  a 
prince. 

"  But  when  at  Turin  I  confessed  that  I  had 
been  an  unbeliever,  I  said  so,  persuaded  by  one 
who  on  that  occasion  was  competent  to  judge, 
and  under  guarantee  of  the  word  and  faith  of 
most  honored  princes.  And  I  said  so  in  the 
hope  of  honor,  not  of  scorn,  and  with  no  inten- 
tion of  concealing  the  truth,  but  rather  of  re- 
vealing it.  And  if  I  was  deceived,  deceit  is 
less  discreditable  to  the  dupe  than  the  deceiver. 
I  should  not,  therefore,  be  held  less  honorable 
after  that  action  than  before.  And  if  I  bene- 
fited by  it,  I  only  derived  an  advantage  it  was 
natural  to  seek,  and  even  less  than  I  deserved. 
Because,  if  it  be  the  judgment  of  the  Duke  of 
Ferrara,  approved  by  the  King  of  Spain,  that 
I  must  abide  by  the  confession  of  my  past  want 
of  faith,  it  is  either  just  or  unjust.  If  just,  I 
have  submitted  to  it ;  if  unjust,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  I  cannot  question  it,  seeing  it  is  adopted  by 


95 


all  the  world.  And  what  seek  I,  O  most  just 
God  !  after  so  many  sufferings  —  so  many 
deaths  —  I  may  say,  as  I  have  undergone  — 
but  a  small  part  of  the  honors  and  rewards 
justly  due  to  my  past  toils  ?  If  this  is  all  I  ask, 
Neapolitans,  should  I  not  be  blamed  as  care- 
less, and  prodigal  of  my  own,  rather  than 
greedy  of  another's  ?  But  you  will  inquire,  of 
whom  do  you  ask  it?  Of  the  Duke  of  Fer- 
rara,  in  whose  service  and  honor  I  have  written 
many  things,  worthy  of  larger  recompense  than 
any  I  dare  to  ask.  And  if  I  have  written  others 
not  entirely  to  his  taste,  or  against  his  reputa- 
tion, I  ought  not  the  less  boldly  to  demand  some 
return  for  my  labors.  Because,  if  I  offended 
him,  I  did  so  believing  he  wished  to  be  offended, 
and  if,  taking  the  hand  of  another,  and  striking 
himself,  he  could  not  reasonably  punish  him 
whose  hand  he  took,  neither  can  he  reasonably 
punish  the  excesses  of  my  tongue  or  my  pen, 
produced  by  his  own  violence  and  artifices." 


Proceeding  to  say  that  he  respects  the  Duke 
as  noble,  brave,  and  honorable,  and  as  such,  if 
free  to  choose,  he  would  always  have  praised 


96 

and  celebrated  him,  he  adds,  that  he  does  not 
deem  him  so  wise  as  to  escape  being  imposed 
on,  nor  infallible  in  his  literary  judgments.  But 
if  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  wants  the  inclination  to 
reward,  or  patronize  his  works,  why  should 
they  remain  unencouraged  ?  If  TITIAN  or 
RAPHAEL  paint  the  likeness  of  a  prince,  and 
the  picture  does  not  please,  will  it  fail  to  find  a 
purchaser  ?  And  in  like  manner,  he  argues,  if 
his  own  poems  are  refused  patronage  by  one 
sovereign,  why  should  they  not  receive  it  from 
others  ?  Why  not  from  the  nobles  and  people 
of  Naples  themselves  ? 

Telling  them  frankly  for  what  reasons,  and  to 
what  extent,  he  is  willing  to  honor  them,  he 
concludes : 

"  And  you,  if  any  promise  be  made  me,  see 
that  it  is  observed  j  nor  believe  that  I  am  more 
solicitous  of  profit  than  of  liberty,  and  charac- 
ter, and  honor,  without  which  I  see  not  how 
profit  can  exist.  Be  persuaded,  then,  that  you 
are  the  advocates  o,f  one  who,  with  the  spirit 
not  of  trade  but  philosophy,  expects  from  the 
EMPEROR  that  sentence  which  it  pleases  him  to 
hope  will  be  favorable."* 

*  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  309,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


97 


The  last  piece  of  evidence  it  will  be  requi- 
site to  adduce  on  this  branch  of  our  subject,  is 
a  letter  of  TASSO'S  to  Cardinal  ALBANO. 
Though  in  a  less  finished,  and  more  familiar 
style  than  his  address  to  the  nobles  and  depu- 
ties of  the  people  of  Naples,  it  is  equally  indi- 
cative of  vigorous,  acute,  and  unclouded  in- 
tellect. 

"  To  Cardinal  Albano. 

"  Mine  is  a  new  and  unheard-of  species  of 
misfortune,  which  compels  me  to  persuade  your 
lordship  I  am  not  mad,  and  ought  not,  under 
that  pretence,  to  be  guarded  or  imprisoned  by 
the  Duke  of  Ferrara.  New  and  unheard-of, 
surely  in  our  times,  and  in  those  of  our  fathers, 
and  our  fathers'  fathers,  since  no  such  instance 
is  related  by  them,  though  one  like  it  occurred 
in  ancient  Greece.  The  children  of  the  famous 
tragic  poet  Sophocles  tried  to  prove  him  a  luna- 
tic. He  answered  by  reading  his  (Edipus,  re- 
cently composed,  in  consequence  of  which  he 
was  adjudged  not  merely  sane,  but  wise.  I 
who  resemble  him,  at  least  in  my  misery,  may 
in  like  manner  be  allowed  to  appeal  to  your 
lordship,  a  judge  no  less  just,  attempting  to 

VOL.  n.  9 


98 


convince  you  I  am  not  mad,  whenever  I  lament 
over  my  past  infelicity. 

"  I  pray  your  lordship,  then,  to  read  two 
dialogues  that  I  have  lately  written,  one  on 
nobility,  and  the  other  on  dignity,  which  will 
sufficiently  demonstrate  the  condition  of  my 
mind.  And  if  you  wish  to  read  them  you  must 
send  for  them,  or  at  least  open  to  me  the  com- 
merce of  letters,  forbidden  to  me  by  I  know 
not  whose  authority.  But  if  acts,  no  less  than 
words,  are  the  signs  by  which  men  are  to  be 
judged,  why  should  I  be  thought  not  only  a  fool, 
but  a  madman  ?  Whom  have  I  killed,  or 
wounded,  or  hurt  ?  Who  has  asked  any  kind- 
ness of  me,  and  been  refused  ?  Who  has  in- 
quired of  anything  belonging  to  my  studies, 
and  not  been  answered  ?  Who  has  sought  to 
help  me,  and  been  mocked  as  by  an  idiot  ? 
Not  the  physicians  certainly,  whom  I  have  beg- 
ged and  prayed  above  all  things  to  come  and 
see  me.  Not  the  confessors,  whom,  in  like 
manner,  I  have  requested  and  implored  ;  nor 
any  of  my  old  friends,  not  one  of  whom  I  have 
yet  seen.  If  then,  no  writing,  and  no  act  of 
mine,  condemns  me  as  a  madman,  with  what 
reason  does  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  detain  me  in 


99 


prison  as  such  ?  Peradventure  it  will  be  said 
that  I  have  written  and  spoken  more  freely  of 
princes  and  of  private  persons  than  I  ought, 
and  that  I  have  struck  one  of  the  keepers  of 
my  prison.  To  these  accusations,  my  reverend 
lord,  I  will  specifically  reply. 

"  Of  princes  it  is  my  duty  to  speak  with 
honor  and  respect ;  and  I  have  never  been,  I 
will  not  say  so  foolish,  but  so  imprudent,  as  to 
forget  it,  not  even  in  those  very  productions  where 
the  contrary  might  have  been  more  pleasing  to 
others.  But  those  I  wrote,  believing  that  your 
lordship,  and  the  illustrious  and  excellent 
SCIPIO  GONZAGA,  prince  of  the  empire,  wished 
me  to  undertake  the  defence  of  my  father 
against  the  Dukes  of  Ferrara  and  Mantua, 
against  the  Cardinal  of  Este,  and  also  against 
his  most  catholic  majesty  ;  and  I  thought,  also, 
that  their  serene  highnesses  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 
the  Duke  of  Urbino,  the  republic  of  Venice, 
the  most  clement  princes  of  Germany,  and  Don 
John  of  Austria,  would  approve  the  defence.* 


*  This  defence  is  not  extant,  unless,  which  is  probable,  the 
Dialogue  del  piacere  Onesto,  is  intended.  If  it  be,  those  parts 
of  it  which  expressed  the  poet's  indignation  against  the  Car- 


100 


But  in  defending  him  I  have  shown,  with  suffi- 
cient clearness,  I  was  not  a  fool.  For  fools 
make  no  distinction  of  persons,  whilst  I  have 
spoken  with  as  much  respect  of  his  catholic 
majesty,  as  indignation  of  the  Cardinal  d'  Este 
and  others  ;  so  that  it  seems  to  me  any  one 
might  plainly  perceive  I  lacked  not  resolution 
to  die  for  my  father,  nor  desired  to  live,  if  his 
catholic  majesty  denied  the  life  of  the  father 
(for  an  honored  memory  is  life)  to  the  prayers 
of  the  son.  And  he  who  in  this  manner  is  re- 
solved to  die,  and  yet  so  much  loves  life  that 
he  would  not  lose  it  from  mere  weariness,  can- 
not be  deemed  a  fool,  I  only  regret,  my  lord, 
that  this  defence,  which  I  undertook  under 
your  auspices,  and  those  of  the  illustrious  and 
excellent  Scipio  Gonzaga,  has  not  been  con- 
ducted by  me  with  the  skill  and  eloquence  it 
merited  ;  but  if  I  have  written  anything  which 
has  displeased,  it  was  from  grief, 

dinal  d'  ESTE  are  no  longer  to  be  found  in  it.  Though  not 
printed  until  1583,  it  was  written  as  early  as  1580.  See  vol. 
vii.,  p.  120,  ed.  di  Pisa;  most  probably  the  Defence,  if  they  are 
not  identical,  and  the  Dialogue,  if  they  are,  must  have  been 
begun  before,  because  TASSO,  among  the  persons  whom  he  be- 
lieved would  approve  the  defence,  names  Don  JOHN  of  AUS- 
TRIA, who  died  in  1578.  See  Muratori  Annali  d*  Italia,  x.,  385. 


101 


"  If  I  am  mistaken,  however,  in  supposing  that 
your  lordship  and  Scipio  Gonzaga  urged  me  to 
this  defence,  —  if  this  is  but  a  false  imagination 
—  a  melancholy  humor,  is  Ferrara  so  far  from 
Rome  that  a  message  or  a  letter  could  not  have 
warned  me  to  desist?  The  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
indeed,  had  it  intimated  to  me.  Others,  too, 
advised  me  to  forbear.  But  was  I  to  obey  the 
Duke  of  Ferrara,  in  respect  to  what  I  had  un- 
dertaken by  the  advice  of  others  against  his 
consent  ?  Surely  the  authority  of  those  with 
whom  it  originated  should  have  restrained  me, 
not  that  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  a  prince  aliena- 
ted from  me,  little  friendly  to  my  reputation, 
and  inclined  to  favor,  if  you  will  not  say  my 
enemies,  at  least  my  rivals  ;  but  I,  who  have 
been  wounded  in  life,  honor,  and  fortune,  will 
say  my  enemies.  And  so  much  for  the  first 
point. 

"  To  the  second,  respecting  words,  it  appears 
to  me  by  so  much  the  more  easy  to  reply,  as  I 
am  certain  not  only  others,  but  the  Duke  of  Fer- 
rara himself,  desired  that  I  should  speak  licen- 
tiously, and  in  this  I  cannot  be  deceived. 
Nevertheless,  that  your  lordship  may  see,  I,  as 
a  reasonable  man,  would  contend  with  the  arms 
9* 


102 


of  reason,  let  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  send  the 
Cavalier  Gualengo  or  Count  Hercules  Tassone 
to  talk  with  me,  and  I  will  so  converse  with 
them,  on  any  subject,  that  there  shall  remain 
neither  cause  nor  pretext  for  keeping  me  in 
prison  as  a  madman. 

"  To  the  third  particular  I  reply,  that  I  do  not 
deny  having  struck  the  keeper,  but  I  have  been 
willing  to  give  him  every  satisfaction  that  a  man 
of  his  condition  could  desire.  And,  it  appears 
to  me,  he  could  ask  no  more  than  what  I  gave 
him  by  the  assurance  that  I  thought  he  wished 
me  to  do  so.  For  as  there  can  be  no  injury 
with  the  consent  of  the  party  injured,  if  I  struck 
him  believing  he  desired  me  to  strike  him,  I  had 
no  design  to  injure  him  by  the  blow.  But  two 
years  have  passed  since  then,  and  he  has  had  a 
writing  under  my  hand,  in  which  I  promised 
him  two  hundred  and  fifty  crowns  on  certain 
conditions,  to  which  I  hold  myself  bound  not 
only  by  law,  but  by  the  honor  of  a  gentle- 
man. It  seems  to  me  then,  I  have  amply 
proved  to  your  lordship  that  the  Duke  of  Fer- 
rara has  no  ground  for  confining  me  as  a  mad- 
man. Now  let  me  consider  whether  he  can 
imprison  me  as  a  criminal. 


103 


"  The  offences  are  either  new  or  old.  For  the 
old,  having  returned  under  the  word  of  your 
lordship,  confirmed  by  the  Count  GUIDO  CAL- 
CAGNINI  and  Signer  CAMILLO  GIGLIOLI,  his  gen- 
tlemen, he  can,  in  no  manner  consistent  with 
his  honor,  detain  me  on  account  of  them.  For 
the  new,  if  he  desired  that  I  should  offend  him 
in  some  way,  he  cannot  reasonably  complain 
that  I  have  done  so  rather  in  one  way  than 
another.  The  impression  by  which  he  proba- 
bly desired  I  should  be  guided  was  not  certain. 
And  peradventure  I  have  many  times  said 
things  that  displeased  him,  intending  the  con- 
trary, and  even  though  I  could  have  been  sure 
of  the  will,  who  can  restrain  irrational  anger  ? 
I  did  not  wish  to  offend  him.  He  desired  to  be 
offended,  but  in  things  more  hurtful  to  my  re- 
putation than  his  own.  Surely  in  that  manner 
I  was  not  bound  to  offend  him. 

"He  complains  then,  that  I  love  myself 
better  than  him  ;  and  if  he  complains  of  this, 
he  complains  unjustly,  and  has  as  little  reason 
to  find  fault  with  me  as  to  keep  me  in  prison. 
And  if  any  one  entertains  a  contrary  opinion, 
I  affirm  positively  he  does  not  understand  the 
obligations  of  honor.  But  to  convince  the 


104 


Duke  of  Ferrara  that  I  not  only  came  with  the 
intention  to  serve  and  respect  him,  but  still 
continue  in  the  same  mind,  let  me  say,  I 
will  never  hold  my  own  honor  dearer  than  his, 
if  by  the  latter  is  understood  the  honor  he 
prizes  as  a  prince  and  a  cavalier. 

"  What  would  he  have  me  say  ?  That  as  a 
sovereign  I  do  not  think  him  tyrannical,  and 
that  I  acknowledge  as  just  his  first  judgment 
respecting  me,  which  I  know  to  be  otherwise  ? 
Touching  honor,  as  a  cavalier,  he  ought  to  be 
satisfied  if  I  hold  him  in  such  respect  as  I  do 
all  the  chivalry  of  his  time.  But  are  there  not 
many  things  on  which  the  judgments  of  cava- 
liers and  even  princes  differ?  As,  for  instance, 
whether  treaties  with  a  double  aspect  are  law- 
ful ?  Whether  it  is  ever  permitted  to  break 
faith  ?  Whether  revenge  may  be  taken  in  the 
presence  of  a  prince  ?  Nor  these  only,  but 
many  other  things  are  disputed.  If  I  entertain 
a  different  opinion  from  the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
shall  I  say  for  this,  he  is  less  to  be  honored  as  a 
cavalier  than  those  who  entertain  my  opinion  ? 
No,  certainly.  And  I  hold  many  who  differ 
from  me  for  most  honored.  So  did  I  hold  the 
late  Duke  of  Urbino,  of  happy  memory,  al- 


105 


though  he  approved  treaties  with  a  double  aspect, 
which  I  condemn ;  but  I  do  not  believe  the  Duke 
of  Urbino  could  have  been  induced  to  do  any- 
thing if  he  doubted  whether  it  was  honorable 
or  not.  Nor  do  I  think  the  Duke  of  Ferrara 
can  do  otherwise  than  doubt  whether  he  has  a 
right  to  detain  me  in  prison,  contrary  to  pro- 
mise ;  nor  being  doubtful,  can  he  do  so  with 
honor;  and  whoever  thinks  otherwise  is  greatly 
mistaken,  as  I  believe  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  to 
be.  In  other  matters,  not  affecting  honor,  the 
Duke  can  hold  what  opinions  he  pleases  with- 
out any  shame  to  him  ;  but  if  he  thinks,  like 
those  who  have  any  literary  rivalship  with  me 
or  I  with  them,  he  ought  not  to  hinder  me  from 
writing  in  my  own  way.  That  I  shall  have 
neither  honor  nor  profit  from  him,  unless  I  write 
as  he  pleases,  is  what  I  do  not  complain  of;  but 
I  cannot  see  how  he  can  hinder  me  from  earning 
a  living  consistently  with  his  own  credit. 

"  I  could  easily  have  made  four  hundred 
crowns  a  year  in  VENICE.  In  my  two  dia- 
logues on  Nobility  and  Dignity,  I  have  given 
the  Venetian  nobility  occasion  to  deny  me 
what  is  granted  to  every  body  else  in  their 
dominions ;  because  in  treating  of  the  prece- 


106 


dence  of  their  Doge,  and  the  Duke  of  Tuscany, 
and  the  Grand  Duke,  ....  *  and  the 
Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  other  Dukes,  it  appears 
to  me  I  have  clearly  proved  by  reason,  that 
their  Doge  should  be  postponed ;  and  if  he  has 
precedence,  it  is  only  because  it  has  so  pleased 
the  Pope  and  the  Emperor.  As  much  more  I 
might  have  gained  in  the  kingdom  of  Naples, 
from  the  profits  of  printing  there,  and  presents 
from  princes  and  nobles  ;  but  respecting  the 
dignity  of  those  six  Dukes,  I  have  written  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  nobility  of  that  kingdom, 
also,  will  be  little  pleased  with  me.t  I  should 
have  received  a  thousand  crowns  for  my  poem, 
if  it  had  been  published  for  my  benefit  the  two 
different  times  it  has  been  published-!  And  the 


*  Blank  in  the  original.  As  there  was  a  dispute  about  the 
title  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  which  the  Duke  of  Fer- 
rara did  not  recognise,  TASSO  may  have  first  written  the  Duke 
of  Tuscany,  doubtful  how  he  could  avoid  offending  the  one  or 
the  other.  The  six  Dukes  were,  probably,  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 
the  Duke  of  Mantua,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Tuscany,  the  Doge  of  Venice,  and  the  Duke  of  Urbino. 

t  The  six  Dukes  shows  that  there  was  some  error  or  omis- 
sion in  the  above  blank. 

t  This  fixes  the  date  of  the  letter.  Only  one  edition  of  the 
Gerusalemme  was  published  in  1580;  several  in  1581. 


107 


Duke  of  Ferrara  has  permitted  this,  or  not 
known  how  to  prevent  it,  if  he  desired  to  do  so, 
and  meantime  keeps  me  in  prison  as  a  mad- 
man, allowing  me  the  bare  necessaries  of  life. 

"  Count  Hercules*  tells  me  I  have  a  right  to 
recover  two  thousand  five  hundred  crowns  from 
my  mother's  estate,  and  my  sister  writes  me  I 
can  get  thousands.  The  property  of  my  father 
was  many  thousands,  which  I  might  have  re- 
covered with  those  dialogues  and  my  poem ; 
and  now,  if  through  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  all 
hopes,  not  only  of  this  but  of  what  I  might  cer- 
tainly have  promised  myself  in  the  kingdom  of 
Naples  and  the  Venetian  states,  are  lost,  it  is 
unreasonable  to  make  me  lose,  also,  my  just 
rights  to  my  mother's  property,  the  recovery  of 
which  I  would  as  willingly  owe  to  the  justice 
of  the  King's  ministers  as  to  the  courtesy  of 
the  princes  and  nobles  of  Naples. 

"  I  desire  permission  to  dedicate  my  dia- 
logues and  poem  to  whoever  will  assist  me  to 


*  "  TASSO  had  first  written  '  my  sister,'  and  then  cancelling 
that,  substituted  '  Count  Hercules,1  with  another  word  now 
illegible."— Note  of  the  Milanese  editor.  Probably  it  was 
Count  Hercules  TASSONE. 


108 


recover  the  two  thousand  five  hundred  crowns, 
or  give  me  an  equivalent,  and  pray  your  lord- 
ship to  ask  it  for  me,  and  I  will  converse  with 
any  one  who  comes  to  speak  to  me  in  your 
name. 

"Allow  me,  also,  to  inform  your  lordship,  that 
my  health  has  suffered  so  much  in  this  prison, 
that  I  cannot  make  the  same  exertions  as  for- 
merly ;  and  between  the  weakness  of  my  con- 
stitution and  the  prejudice  done  me  in  the  king- 
dom of  Naples  and  in  Venice,  I  cannot  so  well 
procure  a  subsistence  as  heretofore. 

"  Your  lordship,  therefore,  who  prevailed  on 
me  to  come  to  Ferrara  from  Savoy,  where  the 
prince  had  offered  me  the  same  provision  I  got 
from  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  the  profits  of 
my  works,  should  provide,  or  make  others  pro- 
vide, I  will  not  say  for  my  convenience,  but 
my  reasonable  necessities.  Your  lordship 
knows  how  I  was  born  and  educated,  in  what 
capacity  I  served  the  Duke  of  Ferjrara,  and 
might  have  served  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tus- 
cany. If  now,  after  five  years'  illness  and 
troubles,  I  have  fallen  from  my  rank,  by  my 
folly,  as  they  say,  even  folly  deserves  compas- 
sion as  much  as  punishment ;  nor  do  I  see  why 


109 


I  should  be  less  respected  than  formerly,  be- 
ginning, even  according  to  the  opinion  of  others, 
to  recover  my  senses.  If  esteem  is  denied  me, 
because,  as  I  believe,  my  reputation  has  been 
injured,  though  men  will  not  honor  me  as  here- 
tofore, at  least  they  might  consider  five  years' 
infirmity  and  suffering  a  sufficient  punishment 
for  every  fault,  and  allow  me  to  live  retired,  far 
from  courts  and  favors,  not  binding  me  to  any 
service  which  I  dislike  and  to  which  no  one  can 
constrain  me,  since  over  my  will  no  prince  in 
the  world  has  any  right,  and  the  Duke  of  Ferra- 
ra  least  of  all,  though  many  may  have  over  my 
person.*  If  he  will  exercise  it  to  the  utmost,  I 
will  die,  unwillingly  indeed,  but  far  more  wil- 
lingly than  I  would  lead  the  odious  life  it  is  de- 
sired I  should  live.  I  would  not  willingly  die, 
as  I  have  said,  but  desire  life  principally  to 
complete  my  poem  and  to  write  some  other 
things  for  my  own  satisfaction.  If  others 
would  graqt  me  life  only  that  I  may  yield  the 


*  Tisso  was  by  birth  a  Neapolitan  and  subject  of  the  King 
of  Spain.  His  family  were  of  Bergamo,  which  he  claimed  as 
his  country.  The  Duke  of  Ferrara,  therefore,  was  in  no  sense 
his  liege  lord. 

VOL.  II.  10 


110 


palm  to  my  rivals  and  enemies,  owning  myself 
vanquished,  not  only  in  argument  but  in  com- 
position, they  may  keep  the  gift  which  most 
assuredly  I  shall  not  accept.  It  is  true,  never- 
theless, that  if  there  were  any  one  who  wished 
me  to  write,  not  to  honor  my  enemies  or  dis- 
grace myself,  but  for  his  own  gratification,  I 
would  not  refuse  to  do  so  as  far  as  I  could,  but 
I  am  not  able.  And  if  I  regard  his  satisfaction, 
he,  however  great  he  might  be,  should  have 
respect  for  mine,  and  consider  that  literary 
emulation  is  too  strong  a  feeling  to  be  overcome. 
But  as  I  am  convinced  that  all  the  Duke  of 
Ferrara  seeks  from  me,  he  seeks,  not  so  much 
for  his  own  satisfaction  as  for  my  dishonor,  and 
places  his  pleasure  in  my  disgrace,  let  your 
lordship  resolve  him  that  I  am  neither  able  nor 
willing  to  write  long  poems ;  short  ones,  such 
as  sonnets,  canzoni,  etc.,  I  will  write  as  he 
commands,  if  he  wishes  me  in  his  service;  if 
he  does  not,  I  have  said  enough  of  his  duty, 
and  your  lordship's,  and  mine,  which  is  to  live 
and  die  manfully,  with  cheerfulness  if  it  may 
be,  but  with  the  cheerfulness  of  a  man.  Fer- 
rara, 23d  May,  [1581.]" 


Ill 


CHAPTER    V. 

THESE  various  pieces,  too  long  perhaps,  and 
not  always  quite  clear  enough  in  the  opinion  of 
our  readers,  in  spite  of  abridgment  and  occa- 
sional explanation,  have  been  quoted  to  very 
little  purpose  if  a  minute  comparison  of  them 
with  each  other  be  requisite  to  confirm  TASSO'S 
affirmation  of  his  own  sanity. 

Their  general  tenor  evinces  a  sound  and  cul- 
tivated mind,  whose  extraordinary  powers  are 
frequently  attested  by  long-sustained  and  ener- 
getic reasoning,  interspersed  with  bursts  of 
sublime  and  pathetic  eloquence.  Taken  all  to- 
gether, they  are  difficult  to  resist,  and  their 
impression  would  be  weakened  rather  than  in- 
creased by  contrasting  numerous  passages  of 
similar  import.  Belief  is  yielded  less  to  subtle 
logic  than  to  adequate  proof,  and  the  chief  art 
of  successful  investigation,  literary  or  scientific, 


112 


lies  in  judiciously  collecting,  analyzing,  and 
combining  the  materials  subjected  to  experi- 
ment. It  often  seems  that  Time  and  Nature 
refuse  to  be  interrogated  on  their  mysteries, 
when  in  reality  they  are  silent  only  to  careless 
inquirers.  Questioned  more  wisely  or  entreated 
with  greater  zeal,  as  if  won  by  devotion  or 
overcome  by  perseverance,  they  yield  at  length 
their  facts  one  by  one  to  curiosity.  These,  for 
a  while,  float,  scattered  and  confused,  amid  he- 
terogeneous matter  —  atoms  in  chaos — without 
form  and  void.  Each  particle,  however,  has  a 
species  of  attraction.  Years  of  patient  thought, 
and  the  labor  of  many  minds  may  be  necessary 
to  bring  them  into  contact  under  circumstances 
favorable  to  their  combination,  but  the  result  is 
instantaneous.  When  the  moment  at  length 
arrives,  and  the  re-agent  is  applied,  portions  of 
the  mass  start  forth,  assume  polarity,  arrange 
themselves,  become  clear  and  regular,  and  the 
crystallization  is  TRUTH. 

Such,  too,  is  often  the  process  of  conviction, 
though  wrought  out  by  means  not  attentively 
noted  by  ourselves,  and  such,  it  seems  to  us, 
must  be  the  result  of  this  collection  of  the  poet's 
own  representations,  made  to  different  persons 


113 


at  different  times,  with  various  objects,  and 
spread  over  a  considerable  period.  All  argu- 
ment, therefore,  would  be  either  superfluous  or 
unavailing. 

If  these  were  the  work  of  a  madman,  AL- 
PHONSO  is  excused  for  confining  him,  and  there 
remains  only  the  contrast  between  poetic  im- 
mortality, royal  munificence,  and  a  pauper's 
hospital.  But  if  our  minds  reject  this  conclu- 
sion, what  shall  we  say  of  many  other  admi- 
rable compositions,  both  in  prose  and  verse, 
all  written  during  his  confinement  ? 

Taking  it  for  granted,  therefore,  that  thus 
far  at  least  the  aggregate  of  proof  is  in  favor 
of  his  sanity,  instead  of  a  tedious  and  minute 
comparison,  to  show  wherein,  and  to  what  ex- 
tent, his  several  statements  coincide,  a  hasty 
glance  at  the  most  remarkable  points  of  agree- 
ment will  be  sufficient,  accompanied  by  some 
rules  for  judging  of  the  rest,  and  an  attempt  to 
reconcile  whatever  may  appear  ambiguous  or 
contradictory. 

Some  general  reflections,  never  to  be  lost 
sight  of,  at  once  present  themselves. 

In  perusing  TORQUATO,  we  must  always  re- 
collect to  whom,  in  what  situation,  and  for  what 
10* 


114 


purpose,  he  wrote.  Whether  free,  or  in  prison, 
for  the  public  or  confidentially  ;  to  what  man- 
ner of  person,  and  with  what  especial  object. 
Thus,  for  example,  the  oration  to  the  Duke  of 
Urbino  was  addressed  directly  to  a  friend,  but 
indirectly  to  all  Italy ;  he  wished  to  propitiate 
della  Rovere,  but  without  farther  provoking 
Alphonso,  and  whatever  may  have  been  the 
secret  of  his  counterfeited  insanity,  he  spoke 
to  one  who  most  probably  either  knew  it 
already,  or  was  not  at  all  likely  to  approve  its 
publication.  His  immediate  aim  was  to  vindi- 
cate himself  from  the  imputation  of  madness, 
to  hint  his  motives  for  wearing  the  mask  of 
folly,  and  to  explain  his  reasons  for  first  leav- 
ing, and  then  going  back  to  Ferrara,  but  all  so 
delicately  and  respectfully,  that  his  defence 
might  be  as  little  offensive  as  possible.  It  was 
written  when  he  was  free,  indeed,  but  a  poor 
and  helpless  fugitive,  before  he  had  spoken  dis- 
respectfully of  the  Duke,  and  while  still  ar- 
dently desiring  to  return  to  his  service.  With 
this  key  it  must  be  read. 

The  discourse  to  GONZAGA  is  dated  from 
prison.  It  was  hastily  composed,  and  sent 
without  correction,  and  hence  the  defects  of  its 


115 


style.*  There  is  no  doubt  he  would  have  cor- 
rected it  if  it  had  been  meant  to  receive  imme- 
diate publicity.!  The  mutilation  it  has  under- 
gone renders  its  effect,  when  entire,  matter  of 
conjecture.  It  may  probably  be  regarded  as 
an  apology  for  this  life,  having  a  double  pur- 
pose to  fulfil,  that  of  soliciting  his  freedom 
through  Gonzaga's  influence,  and  that  of  re- 
maining, in  any  sinister  event,  to  testify  he  was 
reasonable  at  least,  if  not  innocent.  Its  praises 
of  ALPHONSO  may  be  readily  explained  :  Sci- 
PIO  GONZAGA  was  brother-in-law  to  the  Duke, 
and  the  discourse,  or  parts  of  it,  might  be  read 
by  the  latter.  But  a  still  more  sufficient  apo- 


*  This  appears  from  the  postscript.  "  La  fretta  che  ho  di 
mandar  oggi  questa  scrittura  ha  fatto  che  io  non  lo  abbia  dato 
se  non  una  revista  correndo." 

t  Tasso's  letters  abound  with  proof  of  his  anxiety  respect- 
ing the  finish  of  whatever  he  designed  for  the  press.  That  this 
production  was  not  of  a  character  to  be  printed  is  also  further 
evinced  by  its  being  first  published  more  than  thirty  years  after 
his  death,  and  in  its  present  imperfect  form.  He  remarks, 
writing  to  Cataneo,  on  18th  October,  1581,  that  this  discourse 
to  Goniaga  was  not  composed  "  con  quella  ch'  io  stimo  buona 
arte,"  and  that  he  had  intended  to  remodel  it.  See  Lettere, 
torn,  iv.,  p.  158. 


116 


logy  for  them  may  be  found  in  a  sentence  of  the 
poet's —  "  The  Prince  in  whose  power  I  am." 

Whatever  a  prisoner  under  the  entire  control 
of  another  may  say  or  write  to  appease  the 
indignation  of  him  by  whose  order  he  suffers, 
must  be  received  by  posterity  with  many  grains 
of  allowance.  Praise  from  one  so  situated 
comes  loaded  with  the  suspicion  of  hope  or 
fear,  while  every  word  of  complaint,  and  every 
sign  of  blame,  warns  us  by  its  very  caution, 
how  much  injustice  and  misery  must  have  been 
borne  in  silence.  Not  from  the  open  conversa- 
tions of  the  captive  therefore,  are  his  real  sen- 
timents to  be  gathered.  Whispered  hints,  and 
broken  murmurs,  interrupted  by  tears  and 
sighs,  are  the  true  expositors  of  his  half-stifled 
meaning. 

The  letter  to  Gonzaga,  after  the  discourse, 
was  still  more  evidently  confidential.  Some 
passages  of  it  are  curious,  but  more  proper  for 
future  than  present  commentary. 

The  main  intent  of  the  epistle  to  BUONCOM- 
PAGNO  was  to  declare  the  nature  of  his  fortner 
doubts,  and  the  orthodoxy  of  his  settled  faith, 
and  to  assert  the  consistency  of  what  he  wrote 
to  the  Emperor  with  what  he  said  to  the  inqui- 


117 


sition.  To  these  points  it  is  principally  di- 
rected. So  far  as  heretical  opinions  were 
made  a  pretext  for  detaining  him,  or  scep- 
ticism was  alleged  to  have  unsettled  his  reason, 
to  whom  could  he  appeal  but  the  head  of  the 
church,  or  through  whom  more  effectually  than 
the  nephew  of  the  Pope  ? 

The  address  to  the  nobles  and  deputies  of 
the  people  of  Naples,  bespeaks  the  sympathy 
and  assistance  of  his  countrymen  in  a  style 
worthy  of  himself.  Either  written  when  he 
despaired  of  pardon  from  the  Duke  of  Ferrara, 
except  through  the  powerful  interposition  of 
the  Emperor,  with  the  hope  of  which  he  deluded 
himself,  or  trusting  it  would  not  reach  ALFHON- 
so's  eye,  between  whom  and  the  Neapolitans 
there  was  little  intercourse  or  community  of 
feeling  or  policy,  its  tone  is  bolder  than  any- 
thing we  have  from  him  on  the  same  subject. 
There  is  much  reason  to  regret,  that  neither  a 
prior  memorial  to  the  nobles  and  people  of 
Naples,  nor  the  defence  of  his  father,  mentioned 
in  his  letter  to  Cardinal  ALBANO,  nor  his  own 
letter  to  the  EMPEROR,  have  as  yet  been  found.* 

*  The  preceding  memorial  to  the  nobles  and  deputies  of  the 
people   of  Naples,   is    mentioned  in   the    Lettere,  torn,  iv., 


us 


Additional  and  important  facts  might  be 
gathered  from  these  documents,  and  perhaps 
from  his  supplication  to  the  senate  of  Milan, 
still  undiscovered.  None  of  them  are  refe'rred 
to  by  any  of  his  biographers,  except  the  letter 
to  the  Emperor,  which  is  barely  mentioned  by 
Serassi. 

The  last  of  the  justificatory  pieces  heretofore 
quoted  at  length,  is  TASSO'S  letter  to  Cardinal 
ALBANO.  This  was  evidently  confidential,  and 
is  deeply  interesting.  It  wants,  to  be  sure,  the 
unreserved  freedom  of  his  communications  to 
the  DUKE  of  URBINO  and  SCIPIO  GONZAGA, 


p.  308.  The  defence  of  his  father,  irUhe'letter  to  Cardinal  Al- 
bano,  ante,  99,  and  Lettere  Inedite,  p.  61.  The  letter  to  the 
Emperor,  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  312;  torn,  v.,  p.  26;  torn,  i.,  pp. 
1 13,  114  ;  torn,  ii.,  p.  115.  It  is  likewise  mentioned  in  a  letter 
to  Maurizio  Cataneo,  vol.  x.,  delle  opere  di  TASSO,  ed.  di  Ve- 
nezia,  p.  268,  [torn,  iv.,  p.  158,  dell'  ed.  di  Pisa,]  where  he  says 
he  wrote  it  two  years  ago  ;  the  letter  to  Cataneo  is  dated  18th 
October,  1581.  This  carries  back  the  date  of  the  letter  to  the 
Emperor  to  the  latter  part  of  1579.  The  petition  to  the  senate 
of  Milan  is  mentioned  in  a  letter  to  Coccapani,  vol.  ix.,  ed.  di 
Venezia,  p.  238.  Perhaps  the  defence  of  his  father  has  reference 
to  his  Dialogue  del  piacere  Onesto,  but  in  that  event  it  must 
have  been  altered,  for  the  indignation  which,  he  says  in  his  let- 
ter to  Cardinal  Albano,  he  expressed  in  the  defence  against 
Cardinal  d'  Este,  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  dialogue.  See  ante, 
100. 


119 


younger  men,  and  more  intimate  friends.  But 
it  is  entire,  and  shows  us  something  of  his  real 
opinions  about  Alphonso,  his  own  strong  sense 
of  the  injustice  done  him,  and  the  futility 
of  the  alleged  causes  of  his  detention.  It  can- 
not be  overlooked  that  these  contradict  each 
other.  Why  should  angry  words,  or  an  attempt 
to  change  patrons,  be  imputed  to  him  as  a  crime, 
if  he  were  indeed  a  lunatic  ?  Why,  during 
fourteen  months,  deny  him  medical  advice,  if 
he  were  afflicted  with  mental  as  well  as  bodily 
infirmity  ?  If  heresy  were  his  offence,  why 
was  he  not  sent  to  the  prison  of  the  inquisition, 
not  the  hospital  of  the  poor  and  insane ;  and 
why,  during  so  long  a  period,  was  there  no  at- 
tempt to  convert  an  involuntary  and  repentant 
sceptic  ?  The  absurdity  of  such  pretexts  is  to 
be  equalled  only  by  their  cruelty  and  falsehood. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  general  consistency 
of  his  own  statements  is  striking.  A  few  of 
the  most  remarkable  coincidences  may  be 
briefly  noted.  The  imitation  of  Brutus  and 
Solon,  recommended  to  him  by  signs  —  the 
sacrifice,  which  had  no  parallel  but  that  of 
Abraham  —  the  intimation  that  he  must  aspire 
to  no  fame  in  letters,  but  lead  a  sensual  life  in 


120 


the  sty  of  Epicurus  —  all  of  which  are  men- 
tioned in  his  oration  to  the  DUKE  of  URBINO, 
tally  with  what  he  affirms  in  the  discourse  and 
letter  to  GONZAGA,  that  new  and  cruel  modes 
of  punishment  are  devised  for  him  —  that  he  is 
excluded  from  the  common  rights  of  humanity, 
and  the  pale  of  all  law,  civil,  national,  and  na- 
tural —  that  he  is  obliged  to  understand  by 
signs,  like  a  brute,  yet  not  allowed,  like  the 
brutes,  to  quench  his  thirst  without  fear.*  In 
both  a  change  of  service  is  alluded  to,  and  ex- 
cused ;  and  in  each,  as  well  as  the  letter  to 
ALBANO,  such  language  as  displeased  the  Duke 
is  apologized  for,  and  attributed  to  anger,  or  to 
ALPHONSO'S  own  artifice  and  violence.  In  the 
DISCOURSE,  as  well  as  the  letter  to  BUONCOM- 
PAGNO,  and  that  to  the  NOBLES  and  DEPUTIES  of 
the  PEOPLE  of  NAPLES,  his  religious  doubts  are 
touched  upon,  and  his  ultimate  conviction  of 
the  truths  of  Christianity  affirmed  ;  while  in  the 
two  last  he  maintains  the  legitimacy  of  his  mode 
of  defence  before  the  inquisition,  and  insists 
there  was  no  contradiction  between  what  he 
said  before  the  HOLY  OFFICE  and  what  he  wrote 

*  See  also  his  canzone  to  the  Princesses,  stanza  iii. 


121 

to  the  EMPEROR.  In  the  oration  he  says  the 
Duke  signified  to  him  by  signs  a  wish  he  was 
ashamed  to  manifest  by  speech  —  a  wish,  as  it 
appears  by  the  context,  that  he  should  make  a 
third  between  BRUTUS  and  SOLON.  In  the  dis- 
course he  complains,  that  as  an  artist  he  is 
forbidden  to  exercise  his  art,  and  declares  that 
he  who  wishes  another  to  be  mad,  must  not 
complain  if  he  cannot  put  bounds  or  method  to 
his  madness.  He  is  furthermore  consistent  in 
affirming  that  the  Duke  desired  to  be  offended,* 
and  that  Scipio  knew  the  circumstances  under 
which  he  meditated  leaving  ALPHONSO'S  em- 
ployment, and  could  excuse  him.t 

A  man  who  thus  repeats  the  same  facts, 
without  contradiction  from  any  one,  and  con- 
temporaneously produces  numerous  sonnets, 
canzoni,  dialogues,  and  discourses,  all  admi- 
rable, if  he  were  not  of  sound  mind,  must  have 
been  visited  with  a  madness  more  wonderful 
than  wisdom. 


*  See  ante,  Letter  to  the  Nobles  and  Deputies  of  the  People 
of  Naples,  etc. 

t  See  ante,  Discourse  to  Gonzaga,  etc.     See  also  his  letter 
to  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany.     Lettere,  torn,  v.,  150,  151. 
VOL.11.  11 


122 


Let  it  be  once  for  all  remarked,  that  the  phi- 
losophy and  logic  and  morality  of  TASSO,  as 
manifested  in  these  papers,  are  not  intended  to 
be  approved  without  reserve.  Much  of  them, 
indeed,  is  open  to  censure  ;  but  they  were  the 
logic  and  philosophy,  and  morality,  of  his  age 
and  country  and  education,  and  exhibit  not  the 
slightest  sign  of  madness. 

Not  only  does  the  evidence  disprove  insanity, 
but  refute  some  of  the  prominent  causes  as- 
signed for  its  origin.  These,  let  them  be  once 
more  recurred  to,  were  religious  doubts,  the 
criticisms  on  his  Jerusalem,  the  treachery  of 
his  friend,  and  the  spoliation  of  his  papers. 

The  first,  if  we  believe  himself,  had  ended 
in  the  entire  confirmation  of  his  faith,  which, 
to  the  last  hour  of  his  life,  he  confirmed  by  his 
practice.  He  says,  in  the  discourse  to  GONZAGA, 
"  I  laughed  at  my  former  doubts,"  and  in  ano- 
ther place,  "  I  was  not  at  all,  or  very  slightly 
agitated  by  my  former  anxieties." 

The  exceptions  taken  to  his  poem  by  those 
to  whose  censorship  he  had  submitted  it,  were 
answered  without  spleen  or  passion.  For  this 
fact  his  whole  poetical  correspondence  may  be 


123 


cited.  The  alterations  advised,  almost  com- 
manded, by  a  fanatical  inquisitor,  seem  rather 
to  have  fretted  and  annoyed,  than  exasperated 
him.  The  great  attack  of  Salviati,  under  cover 
of  the  Academy  della  Crusca,  was  not  made 
until  1584,  when  he  had  been  already  five  years 
in  prison.  TASSO'S  "  Apology"  was  grave, 
modest,  sensible,  calm,  and  learned,  and  direct- 
ed first  and  most  earnestly  to  the  defence  of 
his  father's  memory.  When  the  controversy 
raged  more  fiercely,  and  he  was  assailed  with 
gross  vituperation,  he  still  maintained  his  tem- 
per. A  single  passage  from  his  rejoinder  may 
be  quoted,  bearing  in  mind  that  SALVTATI  had 
formerly  courted  the  poet,  and  praised  his 
poem. 

"  In  my  prosperity,"  says  he,  "  they  en- 
treated me  to  a  friendship  which  I  sought  not ; 
in  my  adversity  they  would  force  me  into  an 
enmity  which  I  shun.  Formerly  they  received 
more  of  my  heart  than  they  could  themselves 
have  gained ;  and  even  now  have  lost  less  of 
my  benevolence  than  others  desired.  But  ever 
constant  to  the  same  purpose,  they  have  been 


124 


swifter  in  pursuing  me  than  I  in  retiring ;  no 
wonder  therefore,  that  at  length  we  meet." 

Is  this  the  language  of  a  fantastic  and  irrita- 
ble poet,  deprived  of  reason  by  critical  injus- 
tice ? 

His  friend's  treachery,  the  fraudulent  peru- 
sal of  his  papers,  and  violation  of  his  corres- 
pondence remain.  The  effect  of  these  it  is 
not  intended  to  deny  or  disparage.  They  pro- 
bably sunk  deep  into  TASSO'S  mind,  increasing 
his  melancholy,  and  rendering  him  misanthro- 
pic and  suspicious.  But  between  these  and 
madness  there  is  a  wide  space,  which  as  yet  it 
does  not  seem  TORQUATO  overstepped.  Neither 
in  the  sonnet  to  a  false  friend,  already  quoted, 
nor  in  the  other  on  the  same  subject ;  nor  in  any 
of  the  letters  respecting  MADALO,  do  we  trace 
a  feeling  strong  and  keen  enough  to  denote 
vacillating  reason. 

At  length,  then,  we  tread  for  a  moment  upon 
firm  ground.  TASSO  was  not  mad,  at  least 
during  the  two  first  years  of  his  detention. 
Some  other  cause,  therefore,  must  be  sought 

for  his  IMPRISONMENT. 

His  sanity  being  allowed,  there  results  from 


325 


it  the  propriety  of  seeking  that  cause  from  him- 
self. Such  a  search  would  be  folly  if  his  words 
were  a  madman's. 

It  is  equally  clear,  he  was  not  confined  for 
religious  errors.  His  doubts  had  ceased  ;  his 
faith  was  settled  and  orthodox  ;  his  prison  was 
not  that  of  the  holy  office  j  during  fourteen 
months  no  effort  was  made  to  punish  the  obsti- 
nate, convert  the  deluded,  or  confess  and  ab- 
solve the  repentant  sinner.  Heresy  then,  was 
a  pretext  only.*  Disrespectful  language  was 
another,  and  a  yet  weaker  one.  Serassi  says 
the  poet  used  very  strong  terms  of  reproach, 
extending  to  the  whole  house  of  Este,  but  he 
quotes  no  authority. 

TASSO,  in  his  letter  to  Gonzaga,  speaks  of  the 
Princesses  as  partakers  in  their  brother's  injury, 
without  saying  in  what  manner,  but  in  the 
discourse  affirms,  respecting  the  Duke  : 

"In  fine,  I  offended  him  only  by  a  few  light 
words,  the  like  of  which  are  often  uttered  by  dis- 


*  If,  as  TASSO  often  supposed,  the  Cardinal  d'  Este  was 
greatly  instrumental  in   his  imprisonment,  one  cannot  help 
conjecturing  that  this  pretence  may  hare  originated  with  him. 
11* 


126 


contented  courtiers,  or  by  treating  for  a  change  of 
service  from  the  necessity  of  the  case,  which  he 
may  hear  from  me  if  he  will,  and  in  the  manner 
known  to  you,  most  illustrious  sir,  wherein  I  do 
not  believe  he  can  think  himself  aggrieved,  and 
with  words  that  might  have  been  of  much  im- 
portance if  not  said  conditionally,  but  which 
were  uttered,  moreover,  in  a  transport  of  just 
anger,  not  against  him,  but  against  one  who 
had  given  me  sufficient  .cause  ;  and  they  were 
spoken  with  an  intention  that  they  should  not 
have  effect,  as  the  sequel  shows,  and  in  terms 
so  restricted  that  it  was  easy  to  perceive  I  had 
no  purpose  to  remain  in  his  service  with  a  view 
to  his  injury,  but  rather  that  I  sought  to  go  else- 
where, so  as  not  to  be  obliged  to  say  or  do  any- 
thing that  might  displease  him." 

In  another  part  of  the  discourse,  he  says  : 

"  Nor  do  I  deem  less  worthy  of  pardon  the 
words  that  I  uttered,  seeing  that  they  were 
spoken  by  a  man  not  only  angry,  but  exces- 
sively enraged." 

And  in  his  letter  to  Cardinal  Albano  last  cited  : 


127 


"I  am  certain,  not  only  others,  but  the  Duke 
of  Ferrara  himself,  desired  that  I  should  speak 
licentiously,  and  in  this  I  cannot  be  deceived." 

And  finally,  in  his  address  to  the  Nobles  and 
Deputies  of  the  People  of  Naples,  he  remarks, 
on  the  same  subject : 

"Neither  can  he  reasonably  punish  the  ex- 
cesses of  my  tongue  or  my  pen,  produced  by 
his  own  violence  and  artifices.'* 

The  enormous  disproportion  between  the 
offence,  even  as  stated  by  Serassi,  and  the  pun- 
ishment inflicted,  must  strike  every  one,  and 
the  more  forcibly,  because  ALPHONSO  was 
proud,  but  not  habitually  cruel.  It  should  also 
be  noted,  that  the  Duke  never  condescended  to 
give  this  excuse  for  TORQUATO'S  confinement.  On 
the  contrary,  having  once  alleged  madness,  and 
as  TASSO  says,  induced  him  to  feign  it,  he  al- 
ways abided  by  his  first  explanation.  The 
merit  of  inventing  a  more  frivolous  plea  belongs 
to  Serassi.  Without  an  argument,  it  may  be 
held  "bad  for  duplicity." 

The  ground  is  now  cleared  for  our  further 


128 


advance,  by  showing  at  least  that  neither  mad- 
ness, nor  religious  errors,  nor  angry  words, 
were  anything  more  than  excuses  for  TASSO'S 
imprisonment. 

If  nothing  more  can  be  learned,  we  know,  at 
all  events,  for  what  he  was  not  confined.  Nor 
has  this  circuitous  method  of  investigation  been 
pursued  only  to  rouse  languid  attention  by  a 
suspended  interest.  To  irritate  our  reader's 
curiosity  and  unnecessarily  delay  its  gratifica- 
tion, like  the  clown  in  a  comedy,  who  tells 
everything  but  what  he  is  asked,  would  not 
be  worthy  of  them  or  of  us.  Our  reserve  has 
a  better  motive,  —  a  serious  wish  to  separate 
all  the  truth  that  is  now  attainable  from  every 
kind  of  theory  and  conjecture.  But  why  not 
tell  us  at  once  what  reason  TASSO  gave  ?  He 
surely  knew  why  he  was  confined  ?  These 
questions  are  most  natural  from  those,  whatever 
part  of  the  earth  they  may  inhabit,  who  speak 
the  language  of  the  BILL  of  RIGHTS,  and  to 
whom  MAGNA  CHARTA  and  HABEAS  CORPUS 
are  words  familiar  from  their  youth.  To  such 
ears  it  sounds  strange  that  a  prisoner  should 
not  know  the  cause  of  his  detention.  But  in 
many  parts  of  Christendom  it  is  sometimes  so 


129 


even  to  this  day.  The  accused  is  left  to 
imagine  the  reason  of  his  arrest,  though  so  pub- 
lic that  he  alone  may  be  ignorant  of  it.  If  such 
be  the  ordinary  proceeding,  it  were  useless  to 
say  how  much  greater  the  precaution  in  cases 
of  secresy. 

Some  time  may  have  elapsed  before  TASSO 
heard  any  cause  assigned,  but  the  pleasure  of 
the  Duke,  or  his  own  alleged  insanity.  The 
true  one  perhaps  neither  ever  gave,  and  both 
may  have  had  the  strongest  motives  for  con- 
cealing it.  Replying  in  the  meantime,  first  to 
one  ostensible  accusation,  and  then  to  another, 
he  endeavored  to  prove  his  sanity,  his  ortho- 
doxy, and  his  innocence,  or  at  all  events  the 
lightness  of  his  offence,  according  as  madness, 
heresy,  disrespectful  language,  or  an  intention 
to  desert  the  service  of  his  lord,  were  succes- 
sively imputed  to  him.  This  explains  MURA- 
TORI'S  opinion  that  "  TASSO  himself  was  not 
aware  of  the  reason  of  his  imprisonment,  and 
in  his  delirium  fancied  that  this  dreadful 
storm  had  come  upon  him  first  from  one  quarter 
and  then  from  another."*  This,  too,  renders 


*  Letter  of  Muratori  to   Apostolo  Zeno,  torn,  iv,,  p.  114. 
Opere  di  T.  Tasso,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


130 


Torqualo  himself  intelligible  when  he  says,  in 
the  discourse  to  GONZAGA,  "  Whatever  may 
be  the  charges  against  me,  for  1  know  not 
myself  precisely  what  they  are." 

To  seek  them  we  return  to  the  order  of  time. 


131 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  first  symptom  of  TASSO'S  pretended  in- 
sanity meets  us  in  the  account  of  his  drawing 
a  knife  upon  a  servant. 

This  is  said  to  have  taken  place  in  the  apart- 
ments of  the  DUCHESS  of  URBINO.*  We  have 
no  account  of  any  such  circumstance  from 
TASSO  himself.  It  rests  upon  the  authority  of 
Veniero,  who  does  not  speak  as  an  eye-witness. 
Perhaps  he  only  wrote  what  was  given  out, 
purposely  to  be  repeated.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
first  scene  in  TORQUATO'S  feigned  part.  His 
papers  had  been  searched  ;  his  false  friend's 
treachery  was  known;  the  plot  against  him 
thickened  ;  the  combat  had  occurred  ;  MADALO, 


*  May  not  the  device  of  feigning  madness  have  originated 
with  the  Duchess  1 


132 


after  making  those  boasts,  hid  under  an  et 
catera,  had  escaped  to  Florence,  and,  strange 
to  say,  found  refuge  from  the  Duke's  justice  in 
the  house  of  his  own  minister.  Is  it  to  be  sup- 
posed he  revealed  nothing  but  some  criticisms 
on  the  Jerusalem?  What  were  the  more  im- 
portant treasons  of  which  TASSO  speaks  ? 

Let  it  be  conceded  that  it  does  not  appear 
the  Duke's  anger  was  an  immediate  conse- 
quence of  the  affair  with  MADALO.  From  all 
the  circumstances,  as  it  is  most  natural  to  ima- 
gine, ALPHONSO'S  favor  was  first  on  TORQUA- 
TO'S  side.  The  baseness  and  cowardice  of  his 
adversary  would  prejudice  every  brave  and 
generous  mind  against  him,  and  if  the  cause  of 
quarrel  in  any  respect  touched  the  Princess, 
the  time  might  not  have  arrived  when  it  would 
be  quite  safe  to  report  to  the  Duke  what  such  a 
man  said  of  his  sister.  Besides,  we  have 
TASSO'S  own  declaration,  that  in  the  beginning 
of  his  misfortunes  Alphonso  showed  him  the 
affection,  not  of  a  master  but  a  brother.*  All 
this  is  against  the  probability  of  Madalo's  reve- 
lations having  immediately  reached  the  Duke. 

*  Letter  to  the  Duke  of  Urbino. 


133 


There  are  some  truths  which  those  most  in- 
terested are  the  last  to  hear.  The  open  demon- 
strations made  by  the  minister  of  justice  do  not 
add  much  weight  to  the  other  proof  of  the 
Duke's  kindness,  because  they  may  be  sus- 
pected of  artifice.  Everything  considered, 
however,  the  most  reasonable  conjecture  is,  that 
TASSO'S  delinquencies  reached  ALPHONSO  one 
by  one.  First  his  heretical  opinions  ;  then  his 
design  to  change  service ;  and  then  some  other 
yet  graver  faults. 

It  is  manifest  that  the  Duke  did  not  withdraw 
his  favor  on  account  of  TORQUATO'S  doubts. 
According  to  this  discourse,  "  he  conversed  on 
the  subject  with  his  loving  and  beloved  lord, 
and  with  his  license  presented  himself." 

His  intention  to  leave  the  Duke's  service  was 
a  more  serious  matter,  discovered  most  proba- 
bly by  the  fraudulent  perusal  of  his  letters. 
Even  after  this,  however,  the  princesses  inter- 
ceded for  him. 

"  The  accusation  of  being  faithless  to  my 
Prince"  —  it  is  he  himself  who  speaks  — 
"  added  to  the  original  charges,  produced  a 
torrent,  nay,  a  deluge  of  misfortunes,  so  great, 

VOL.  II.  12 


134 

that  neither  any  effort  of  human  reason,  nor  the 
favor  of  the  most  serene  Princesses,  who  ex- 
erted themselves  earnestly  in  my  behalf,  were 
sufficient  to  restrain  it."* 

Yet  this  fault  alone  was  not  one  whence  mad- 
ness could  be  inferred,  nor  as  a  punishment  for 
which  its  simulation  would  be  commanded. 
Nor  does  Tasso  himself  elsewhere  consider  it 
so  very  heinous,  alleging  "  the  necessity  of  the 
case,"  and  saying,  "  he  does  not  believe  AL- 
PHONSO  could  think  him  aggrieved  by  it."t 

Thus  much  is  plain.  It  was  not  in  conse- 
quence of  this  act  that  he  lost  the  favor  of  the 
Princesses.  They  upheld  his  cause  after  it 
was  known  he  had  intended  to  desert  the  court 
of  FERRARA,  and  when  they  abandoned  it,  be- 
sides his  contumelious  language,  if  that  be 
"  the  injury  in  which  they  were  partakers," 
they  had,  as  he  conceived,  "  other  causes  of 
displeasure."| 

In  confirmation  of  the  opinion  that  all  the 


*  Discourse  to  Gonzaga. 

t  Letter  to  Gonzaga  after  the  Discourse. 

t  Id. 


135 


subjects  of  complaint  against  him  were  not 
known  at  once,  the  following  sonnet  may  be 
quoted. 

There  is  every  reason  to  believe  it  was  writ- 
ten early  in  his  troubles,  and  there  is  no  allu- 
sion to  angry  words  or  imputed  madness.  His 
"  dubious  faith"  is  distinctly  mentioned,  and 
may  refer  either  to  his  religious  doubts,  or  the 
imputation  of  disloyalty. 


At  thy  loved  name  my  voice  grows  loud  and  clear, 
Fluent  my  tongue,  as  thou  art  wise  and  strong, 

*  Rime,  torn,  iii.,  vol.  v.,  p.  31,  ed.  di  Pisa. 

"  AL   DUCA    ALFONSO   DI   FERRARA. 

lo  pure  al  nome  tuo  dolce  rischiaro 

La  lingua,  e  'n  dir  come  sei  saggio,  e  forte 

Parche  sopra  le  nubi  aura  mi  porte ; 

Ma  tosto  caggio  in  suon  basso  ed  amaro. 

E  s'  alia  tua  pietk  mio  fato  avaro 

Non  vince,  Alfonso  invitto,  e  1'  impia  sorte, 

Gela  mia  lingua,  anzi  il  rigor  di  morte, 

Ch'  omai  mi  verna,  esol  pianger  m'  e  caro. 

Piango  il  morir,  ne"  piango  il  morir  solo, 

Ma  il  modo,  e  la  mia  fe,  che  mal  rimbomba, 

Che  col  nome  veder  sepolta  parmi. 

N<i  piramidi,  o  Mete,  o  di  Mausolo. 

Mi  saria  di  conforto  aver  la  tomba, 

Ch'  altrc  moli  innabzar  credea  co"  carmi." 


136 

And  soaring  far  above  the  clouds  my  song : 
But  soon  it  droops,  languid  and  faint  to  hear  j 
And  if  thou  conquerest  not  my  fate,  I  fear, 
Invincible  ALPHONSO  !  FATE  ere  long 
Will  conquer  me  —  freezing  in  DEATH  my  tongue 
And  closing  eyes,  now  opened  with  a  tear. 
Nor  dying  merely  grieves  me,  let  me  own, 
But  to  die  thus —  with  faith  of  dubious  sound, 
And  buried  name,  to  future  times  unknown. 
In  tomb  or  pyramid,  of  brass  or  stone, 

For  this,  no  consolation  could  be  found; 
My  monument  I  sought  in  verse  alone." 

The  strongest  presumption,  however,  that 
TASSO'S  imputed  delinquencies  were  established 
to  the  Duke's  conviction,  not  suddenly,  but 
gradually,  arises  from  the  nature  of  the  thing 
itself.  So  long  as  a  favorite  enjoys  his  prince's 
confidence,  all  attacks  upon  him  must  be  made 
with  great  caution,  because  they  are  apt  to  re- 
coil. The  moment  his  favor  is  shaken,  many 
things  are  exposed  from  hatred,  which  were  at 
first  suppressed  through  fear,  and  at  length  are 
listened  to.  Whether  he  confesses,  and  attempts 
to  palliate,  or  denies,  and  after  denial  is  con- 
victed of  the  facts  successively  charged  upon 
him,  he  is  equally  ruined.  The  only  difficulty 
is  in  creating  the  first  unfavorable  impression. 

After  his  assault  upon  the  servant,  his  origi- 


137 


nal  place  of  confinement  was  a  dungeon  in  the 
palace  court.  This  is  the  tradition  still  pre- 
served in  FERRARA,  and  confirmed  by  himself.* 
He  was  set  at  liberty,  says  SERASSI,  and  taken 
to  Belriguardo  to  divert  his  melancholy.t  Is  it 
certain  ?  No  authority  is  quoted,  and  on  such 
topics  the  biographer  has  not  entitled  himself 
to  implicit  confidence. 

It  is  probable  TASSO  was  never  liberated, 
and  if  the  monks  of  San  Francesco  refused  to 
receive  him,  there  is  reason  to  suspect  he  was 
not  to  return  to  his  usual  apartments  in  the 
palace,  but  to  his  former  prison.! 

ROSINI,  with  great  plausibility,  supposes  he 
was  conducted  to  Belriguardo,  to  be  more  con- 
veniently and  secretly  interrogated,  and  refers 
to  this  period  a  sonnet  of  TASSO'S  to  the  shade 
of  DUKE  HERCULES,  ALPHONSO'S  father,  which 
begins  thus  : 

"  Shade  of  great  Hercules  !  dostthou  not  see 
The  cruel  aim  of  him  that  calls  thee  sire, 


*  Serassi,  Vita,  p.  246,  n.  4.  Lettere,  vol.  ix.,  p.  237,  ed.  di 
Venezia.  Letter  to  the  Lords  and  Deputies  of  the  People  of 
Naples,  ante,  p.  93. 

t  Serassi,  Vita,  p.  248. 

t  Rosini,  Cavedoniana,  iii.,  p.  39. 

12* 


.138 

Who  with  unwonted  arts  would  wring  from  me 
The  words  and  acts  that  may  increase  his  irel 
From  the  pure  milky  way,  above  the  gyre 

Of  wandering  stars,  and  far  beyond  the  sun, 

Among  the  pitying  angels  send  down  one 
Who  may  their  hearts  with  clemency  inspire,"  etc.* 

The  Professor  thinks  the  Princess  herself 
may  have  participated  in  the  harsh  proceedings 
to  which  TASSO  alludes.t  This  conjecture, 
though  countenanced  by  the  expression  "  their 
hearts,"  is  too  revolting  to  be  willingly  indulged, 
and  may  be  escaped  from  by  supposing  the 
allusion  is  to  the  Duke  and  Cardinal  only.  Yet 
it  must  be  confessed  there  are  other  complaints 

*  Rime,  torn,  iii.,  vol.  v.,  p.  35,  ed.  di  Pisa. 
"  SONNETTO    101. 

Al  Duca,  Ercole  di  Ferrara,  che  voglia  dal  cielo  ispirar  pield 
ne'Jigli. 

Alme  grande  d'  Alcide,  io  so  che  miri 
L'  aspro  rigor  della  Real  tua  prole, 
Che  con  insolite  arti,  atti  e  parole, 
Trar  da  me  cerca,  onde  ver  me  s'  adiri, 
Dal  gran  cerchio  di  latte,  ove  ti  giri 
Sovra  P  erranti  stelle,  e  sovra  il  sole, 
Un  messagier  di  tua  pieta  sen  vole, 
E  spirto  in  lor  d'  umanitade  inspiri,"  etc. 

t  Rosini,  Cavedonianai.,p.  16. 


139 


of  rigor  on   the  part  of  at  least  one  of  the 
Princesses. 


"  A  hell  of  torment  in  this  life  of  mine, 

My  sighs  are  as  the  Furies  breathing  flame, 
Desires  around  my  heart  like  serpents  twine, 

A  bold  fierce  throng  no  skill  or  art  may  tame; 
As  the  lost  race  to  whom  Hope  never  came 

So  am  I  now  —  for  me  all  hope  is  o'er  — 
My  tears  are  Styx,  and  my  complaints  and  shame 

The  fires  of  Phlegethon  but  stir  the  more. 
My  voice  is  that  of  Cerberus,  whose  bark 

Fills  the  abyss,  and  echoes  frightfully 
Over  the  stream,  dull  as  my  mind  and  dark: 

In  this  alone  less  hard  my  fate  maybe, 
That  there  poor  ghosts  are  of  foul  fiends  the  mark, 

While  here  an  EARTHLY  GODDESS  tortures  me."* 


Rime,  parte  prima,  vol.  L,  p.  170. 

"SONNETTO    329. 

Un  Inferro  angoscioso  e  la  mia  vita, 
I  miei  sospir  son  le  tre  Furie  ardenti, 

I  mieidesir  la  schiera  de'  serpenti 

Contra  il  misero  cor  fiera  ed  ardita. 
La  speranza  da  me  fatt'  ha  partita, 
Comelaggiu  tra  le  perdute  genti ; 

II  pianto  e"  Stige,  e  i  miei  sospir  cocenti 
Di  Flegetonte  la  fiamma  infinita, 

Le  voci  mie  son  Cerbero,  che  latra, 
La  valle  Inferna,ove  ilgran  flume  mea, 


140 


The  "Earthly  Goddess"  is  an  expression 
but  too  significant,  and  further  confirmation  of 
its  meaning  will  be  found  hereafter.  Passages 
in  the  discourse  to  Gonzaga  have  already  been 
adverted  to,  from  which  it  appears  that  ALPHONSO 
favored  him  during  his  difficulties  with  the 
inquisition,  and  that  the  Princesses  did  not  with- 
draw their  countenance  even  after  his  intention 
to  leave  the  Duke's  service  was  divulged.  Be- 
sides "  participating  in  their  brother's  injury," 
alluding,  probably,  to  the  poet's  disrespectful 
language,  they  had,  he  imagined,  "other  causes 
of  displeasure." 

It  was  something  more,  then,  than  merely 
angry  words,  or  a  design  to  quit  the  court  of 
Ferrara,  that  drew  down  upon  him  so  heavy  a 
punishment.  Serassi,  indeed,  quotes  part  of 


E  la  mia  mente  tenebroso  e  atra. 

E  in  questo  e  a  me  la  sorte  assai  men  rea, 
Ch'  ivi  tormenta  la  dolente  squadra 

Spirto  infernal,  e  me  TERRESTRE  DBA." 

See  also  the  canzone  to  the  Prince  of  Tuscany,  post,  and 
observe  a  passage  of  the  discourse  to  Gonzaga,  where  he 
says,  .  .  .  "  And  I  grieve  that  those  who  ought  to  alleviate 
my  misery,  or  at  least  console  it,  should  minister  to  its  rigor, 
and  become  aiders  of  its  bitterness." 


141 


the  following  sonnet  to  sustain  the  opposite  con- 
clusion : 

"  TO    THE    DUKE    ALPHONSO. 

My  gracious  lord  !  if  you,  indeed,  complain 

Of  the  rude  license  of  my  angry  tongue, 

Not  from  my  heart,  believe  me,  sprang  the  wrong  — 

It  honors  you  and  feels  itself  the  pain: 

Nor  should  a  few  rash,  daring  words  and  vain, 

Weigh  against  praises,  well  matured  and  long, 

By  love  and  study  woven  into  song, 

Which  neith:  r  ire  nor  avarice  can  stain. 

Why  tedious  suffering,  then,  for  transient  crime, 

And  brief  rewards  for  ever-during  fame! 

Such  was  not  royal  guerdon  in  old  time ! 

Yet  my  right  reasoning  is  perhaps  to  blame, 

Honor  you  gave,  not  borrowed  from  my  rhyme, 

Which  to  your  merit's  grandeur  never  came  !"* 

*  Rime,  parte  seconda,  torn,  iii.,  vol.  v.,  p.  64,  s.  118. 

"  AL   DUCA   ALPHONSO. 

Magnanimo  Signor,  se  mai  trascorse 
Mia  lingua  si,  che  ti  nojasse  in  parte, 
Non  fu  mossa  dal  cor,  ch'  a  venerarte 
Devoto  intende,  e  s&  per  duol  rimorse. 
Ne  temerarj  detti  in  lance  apporse 
Debbono  a  quei,  che  pensamento,  ed  arte 
Matura,  cd  orna,  o  da  vergate  carte, 
Che  da  te  sdegno,  o  fame  d'  or  non  torse 
Dunque  lunghi  gastighi  a  brevi  offese 


142 


We  will  not  stop  to  argue  that  the  language 
is  hypothetical,  merely,  "  my  gracious  lord, 
if  you  indeed  complain"  TASSO  might  not  then 
be  apprised  what  coloring  the  Duke  intended  to 
give  to  his  imprisonment,  and  in  striving  to 
appease  him  would,  of  course,  adopt  whatever 
explanation  he  thought  ALPHONSO  preferred, 
especially  if  it  promised  to  shorten  his  own  suf- 
ferings. The  imputation  of  madness  threatened 
indefinite  confinement.  Angry  words,  on  the 
contrary,  might  be  expiated  by  a  temporary  se- 
clusion. 

It  were  superfluous  to  re-urge  that  the  Duke, 
it  would  seem,  never  deigned  to  assign  TAS- 
so's  passionate  language  as  an  excuse  for  his 
punishment,  but  merely  as  a  proof  of  his  insani- 
ty; and  the  words  of  the  poet  more  than  once 
quoted,  show  he  was  persuaded  not  only  others, 
but  Alphonso  "desired  he  should  speak  licen- 
tiously,"* and  that  his  hasty  expressions  re- 


Dansi,  e  per  lungo  onor  breve  conforto 
Dar  man  reale,  in  guiderdon  non  debbe  1 
Ma  pur  mia  ragion  somma  6  sommo  torto ; 
Ch'  in  dir  di  te,  non  giunse  a  te,  ma  prese 
Onor  mio  stile,  e  pregio  a  s&  n'accrebbe." 
Letter  to  Cardinal  ALBANO,  ante,  p.  101. 


143 


suited  "  from  the  Duke's  own  violence  and 
artifices."*  Let  it  be  observed,  however,  in 
reference  to  this  sonnet,  that  the  enumeration  of 
one  fault  does  not  inevitably  exclude  the  sup- 
position of  others,  for  if  it  did,  the  project  of 
seeking  a  new  patron,  which  TASSO  indisputa- 
bly at  one  time  entertained,  would  be  disproved 
by  the  omission  to  mention  it.  SERASSI  advances, 
as  a  further  confirmation  of  his  theory,  a  passage 
from  one  of  the  poet's  letters  to  RONDINELLI, 
in  which  he  says  : 

"I  returned  two  years  ago  to  Ferrara,  recall- 
ed by  the  authority  of  Cardinal  ALBANO,  to  the 
nuptials  of  the  lady  Margherita  Gonzaga,  where, 
not  receiving  from  the  serene  lord  Duke  the  fa- 
vors the  Cardinal  had  taught  me  to  expect,  I 
committed,  through  excess  of  anger  and  fancy, 
some  faults  for  which  I  was  imprisoned."t 

It  is  needless  to  comment  upon  the  air  of 
caution  here  observed,  or  to  repeat  that  it  is  the 
language  of  a  prisoner  whose  letters  were  often 


*  Letter  to  the  Nobles  and  People  of  Naples,  ante,  p.  95. 
t  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  191. 


144 


intercepted.  Still  more  inconclusive  is  the 
extract  quoted  by  Serassi  from  a  letter  of  TAS- 
so's  to  the  Duchess  of  Ferrara: 

"  I  do  not  ask  pardon  for  thoughts  or  inten- 
tions by  which  I  did  injury  to  no  one  save 
myself,  but  for  words  wherein  the  violence  of 
others  was  more  to  blame  than  my  own  will."* 

Besides  words  then,  there  were  "  thoughts 
and  intentions,"  and  for  these  his  excuse  is, 
that  they  did  harm  to  no  one  save  himself.  Let 
it  be  supposed  that  they  related  exclusively  to 
a  change  of  service.  There  still  remains  the 
invincible  difficulty  of  supposing  a  command 
to  feign  madness  on  account  of  this  simple  of- 
fence ;  because,  at  the  time  that  order  was  inti- 
mated, the  angry  words  had  not  been  uttered. 

A  short  extract  from  a  long  letter  of  his  to 
the  Duke,  authorizes  the  conjecture  that  there 
were  other  topics  of  complaint  which,  even  in 
writing  to  ALPHONSO,  it  was  expedient  to  indi- 
cate with  great  circumspection.  After  many 
scholastic  exhortations  to  clemency,  he  says : 

*  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  p.  312. 


145 


"  And  having  said  thus  much  of  MERCY  and 
of  JUSTICE,  I  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  most 
clement  lord!  and  pray  you  to  pardon  the  false, 
foolish,  and  daring  words  for  which  I  was  put  in 
prison,  and  at  the  same  time  obtain  me  forgive- 
ness for  all  my  other  faults  of  temerity,  and 
particularly  those  which  concern  the  offence 
of  any  prince.  For  if,  not  from  hatred  but 
passion,  I  have  erred  against  your  highness  and 
others,  it  would  be  an  act  worthy  of  your  cle- 
mency, that  this  and  every  other  fault  of  mine 
should  be  pardoned."* 

What  then  were  his  other  faults  ?  Why  are 
they  characterized  as  faults  of  temerity  ?  How 
did  they  concern  the  offence  of  any  prince  ?  Is 
there  anything  to  connect  them  with  that  "  heavy 
sin  of  temerity,"  of  which  he  once  accused 
himself,  "  in  having  dared  to  lift  his  thoughts 
so  high  ?" 

Independent  of  contemporaneous  rumor,  it 
is  certainly  remarkable  how  many  authors 
have  agreed  in  finding  among  his  poems  written 
about  this  period  the  confession  of  errors 


*  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  p.  272,  ed.  di  Pisa. 
VOL.    II.  13 


146 

caused  by  LOVE.     Part  of  one  of  his  sonnets 
has  been  often  cited  : 

"  Celestial  Virgin  !  scales  like  thine  from  heaven 
My  earthly  lord  received,  and  yet  denies 
No  grace  or  mercy.    Could  my  heart  be  riven 
And  seen  by  him,  would  he  not  say  arise! 
What  to  true  lovers  shall  not  be  forgiven 
In  whom  all  imperfections  FAITH  supplies."* 

Another  addressed  to  ALPHONSO,  has  also 
been  frequently  relied  on  : 

"TO    THE    DUKE    ALPHONSO,    ASKING 
TO    BE    LIBERATED. 

Like  a  new  IXION  upon  Fortune's  wheel, 

Whether  I  sink  profound  or  rise  sublime, 

One  never-ceasing  martyrdom  I  feel, 

The  same  in  wo,  though  changing  all  the  time. 

I  wept  above,  where  sun-beams  sport  and  climb 

The  vines,  and  through  their  foliage  sighs  the  breeze, 

*  Rime,  parte  prima,  torn,  i.,  vol.  iii. 

"  Vergine  bella,  il  mio  Signer  in  terra 
Ha  bilance  alle  tue  ben  somiglianti ; 
Tu  gliele  desti,  e  non  le  torse  affetto. 
Ma  se  vedesse  ci6,  che'  1  mio  cor  serra, 
Diria:  chi  non  perdona  ai  fidi  amanti, 
In  cui  per  fe  s"  adempie  ogni  difetto  V 


147 

I  burned  and  froze,  languished  and  prayed  in  rhyme. 
Nor  could  your  ire,  nor  my  own  grief  appease. 
Now  in  my  prison,  deep  and  dim,  have  grown 
My  torments  greater  still  and  keener  far, 
As  if  all  sharpened  on  the  dungeon-stone: 
Magnanimous  Alphonso!  burst  the  bar, 
Changing  my  fate,  and  not  my  cell  alone, 
And  let  my  fortune  wheel  me  where  you  are  !"* 

The  general  appositeness  of  TASSO'S  mytho- 
logical allusions  gives  an  importance  to  the  first 
line  it  would  not  otherwise  possess.  His  figures 


Rime,  parte  seconda,  torn,  iii.,  vol.  v.,  p.  31,  Son.  53. 

"AL    DUCA   ALFONSO,    DIMANDA   LA 
SUA    LIBERAZIONE. 

Me  novello  Ission  rapida  aggira 
La  rota  di  fortuna,  e  s'  in  sublime 
Parte  m'  innalza,  o  pur  se  mi  deprime, 
Sempre  pero  m'  affligge,  e  mi  martira. 
Piansi  lassuso,  ov'  entra  il  sole,  e  spira 
L'aura  piu  lieta.  tra  frondose  cime : 
Arsi,  gelai,  languii,  pregando  in  rime, 
Ne1  scemai  le  mie  pene,  e  la  vostra  ira. 
Or  in  career,  profondo  o  son  cresciuti 
1  miei  tormenti,  od  b  piu  acuto  e  forte 
Vecchio  dolor,  cui  giro  aspro  sia  cote. 
O  magnanimo  Alfonso,  a  me  si  muti 
Non  sol  prigion,  ma  stato:  e  se  mia  sorte 
Rotar  pur  vuole,  intorno  a  voi  mi  rote." 


148 


of  that  description  are  always  significant,  though 
not  always  gracefully  or  naturally  introduced* 
and,  in  this  instance,  perhaps,  more  than  the 
mere  penalty  of  his  fault  may  be  hinted.  That 
something  alleged  against  him  was  imperfectly 
proved,  results  not  only  from  the  cruel  aim  of 
extorting  a  confession  by  "  unwonted  arts,"  here- 
tofore adverted  to,  but  is  farther  confirmed  by 
the  terzetts  of  the  eighty-eighth  sonnet,  in  which 
he  implores  the  spirit  of  the  deceased  Duke 
Hercules  to  send  a  celestial  messenger  with 
ASTREA'S  scales  from  Heaven,  because  those 
of  earth  are  false  : 

"  There  the  old  fault  with  the  past-suffered  pain 
Be  balanced  —  placing  merits  on  one  side 
And  errors  on  the  other.     Thus,  again, 
Thy  son,  my  honored  lord,  may  well  divide 
Evil  from  good,  the  certain  from  the  vain, 
And  between  FATE  and  WILL  like  JOVE  decide."* 

It  is  not  unworthy  of  note,  that  a  sonnet  ad- 


*  Rime,  parte  seconda,  torn,  iii.,  vol.  v.,  p.  49,  Son.  88. 
"  duivi  1'  antica  colpa,  e  '1  gia  sofferto 
Gastigo  in  un  si  libri,  e  dall'  un  lato 
Stian  gli  error  miei,  dall'  altro  ogni  mio  merto, 
Poscia  il  tuo  figlio,  e  mio  Signor  laudato 
Pesi  col  bene  il  mal,  col  dubbio  il  certo, 
dual  Giove  in  Ciel  pesa  il  volere,  e  '1  fato." 


149 


dressed  to  the  PRINCESSES,  and  evidently  writ- 
ten in  the  first  days  of  his  imprisonment,  neither 
earnestly  repels  the  imputation  of  madness  nor 
entreats  pardon  for  using  terms  of  reproach. 
The  topics  dwelt  upon  are  his  misery,  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  former  virtues,  and  his  constant 
truth,  honor,  and  devotion  : 

"  TO   THE    PRINCESSES    OF    FERRARA. 

"Sisters  of  great  Alphonso!  to  the  West 
Three  times  have  sped  ths  coursers  of  the  sun, 
Since  sick  and  outraged  I  became  a  jest, 
And  sighed  o'er  all  that  cruel  Fate  has  done  ; 
Wretched  and  vile  whatever  meets  my  eye 
Without  me,  wheresoe'er  I  gaze  around ; 
Within,  indeed,  my  former  virtues  lie, 
Though  shame  and  torment 's  the  reward  they've  found. 
Aye  !  in  my  soul  are  TRUTH  and  HONOR  still  — 
Such  as  if  seen,  the  world  were  proud  to  own, 
And  your  sweet  images  rny  bosom  fill ; 
But  lovely  idols  ne'er  content  alone 

True  hearts;  and  mine,  though  mocked  and  scorned  at  will 
Is  still  your  temple,  altar,  shrine,  and  throne."* 

*  Rime,  parte  prima,  torn,  i.,  vol.  iii.,  p.  177,  Son.  343. 
"ALLE    PRINCIPESSE    DI    FERRARA. 

"  Sucre  del  grand  Alfonso,  il  terzo  giro 
Ha  gia  compiuto  in  gran  pianeta  eterno, 

13* 


150 

In  a  canzone,  however,  also  inscribed  to  the 
sisters,  and  composed  shortly  after  the  sonnet, 
among  several  interesting  allusions  to  his  situa- 
tion, is  one  to  the  offence  committed  by  his 
tongue.  Yet  that  topic  is  not  treated  with  the 
deep  and  passionate  repentance  which  one 
would  expect  from  the  general  tone  of  the  com- 
position, had  angry  language  been  his  only,  or 
even  his  greatest  fault. 

If  the  presumption  of  attempting  to  translate 
any  part  of  a  canzone  so  celebrated  can  be 
forgiven,  some  extracts  from  it  will  be  far  bet- 
ter than  any  commentary  for  those  who  do  not 
read  Italian,  while  the  original  will  enable 
those  who  do,  to  appreciate  the  inferences  de- 


Ch'  io  dallo  strazio  afflitto,  e  dallo  scherno, 
Di  Fortuna  crudele  egro  sospiro, 
Lasso  !  vile  ed  indegno  e  ci6  che  tniro 
A  me  d'  intorno,  o  ch'  in  altrui  discerno  : 
Bello  e  ben,  s'ivi  guardo,  il  petto  interne  ; 
Ma  che  1  premj  ha  sol  d'  onta,  e  di  martiro, 
Bello  e  si,  che  veduto  al  mondo,  esempio 
Fora  d'  onor:  vi  siete  ambe  scolpite, 
E  vive  e  spira  1'una  e  1'  altra  immago. 
Pur  d'  Idoli  si  belli  appien  non  pago, 
Ilverdesio;  ma  voi,  lasso!  schernite 
La  fede,  e  '1  cor  ch'  e  vostro  altare  e  tempio." 


151 

duced  from  it  and  the  difficulty  of  transfusing 
the  expressions  which  authorize  them,  at  once 
exactly  and  poetically  into  another  tongue. 
That  task  it  is  not  pretended  has  been  here 
well  performed.* 

"TO   THE    PRINCESSES    OF    FERRARA. 

Fair  daughters  of  Ren6  !  my  song 
Is  not  of  pride  and  ire, 
Fraternal  discord,  hate,  and  wrong, 
Burning  in  life  and  death  so  strong, 


*  "  It  will  sufficiently  appear,"  says  Serassi,  "  by  reading 
this  canzone  and  that  to  the  Duke,  '  O  magnanimo  figlio,'  etc., 
with  what  strong  colors  he  painted  his  misery,  and  how  elo- 
quently he  strove  to  move  their  compassion.  But  all  his  efforts 
proved  fruitless,  at  least  for  the  moment,  the  wounds  inflicted 
on  those  tender  bosoms  by  his  daring  words  being  still  too 
green,"  (pp.  290,  291.)  This  explanation  he  may  possibly  have 
drawn  from  some  authentic  source,  but  unhappily  does  not 
quote  his  authority. 

"ALLS  PRINCIPESSE  DI  FERRARA. 

O  figlie  di  Renata 

lo  nori  parla  alia  pira 

De'  fratei,  che  ne  pur  la  morta  unio, 

Che  di  regnar  malnata 


152 

From  rule's  accurst  desire, 

That  even  the  flames  divided  long 

Upon  their  funeral  pyre.* 

But  you  I  sing,  of  royal  birth, 

Nursed  on  one  breast  like  them  ; 

Two  flowers,  both  lovely,  blooming  forth 

From  the  same  parent  stem  — 

Cherished  by  heaven,  beloved  by  earth — 

Of  each  a  treasured  gem  ! 

To  you  I  speak  in  whom  we  see 

With  wondrous  concord  blend, 

Sense,  Worth,  Fame,  Beauty,  Modesty  — 

Imploring  you  to  lend 

Compassion  to  the  misery 


Voglia,  e  disdegno,  ed  ira 

L  'ombre,  il  cener,  le  fiamme  anco  partid  ;* 

Ma  parlo  a  Voi,  che  pio 

Produsse  e  real  seme, 

In  uno  stesso  seno 

duasi  in  fertil  terreno, 

Nate,  e  nodrite  pargolette  insieme, 

duasi  due  belle  piante, 

Di  cui  serva  e  la  terra,  e  il  Cielo  amante. 

A  voi  parlo,  in  cui  fanno 

Si  concorde  armonia 

Onestk,  senno,  onor,  belezza,  e  gloria : 

A  voi  spiego  il  mio  affanno, 

E  della  pena  mia 

*  Eteocles  and  Polynices,  who  fell  by  each  other's  hands, 
and  whose  ashes  are  said  to  have  separated  on  the  funeral 
pile. 


153 

And  sufferings  of  your  friend. 
The  memory  of  years  gone  by, 
O !  let  me  in  your  hearts  renew  — 
The  scenes,  the  thoughts  o'er  which  I  sigh, 
The  happy  days  I  spent  with  you  — 
And  what,  I  ask,  and  where  am  I  — 
And  what  I  was,  and  why  secluded  — 
Whom  did  I  trust  and  who  deluded  1 

Daughters  of  heroes  and  of  kings, 

Allow  me  to  recall 

These  and  a  thousand  other  things  — 

Sad,  sweet,  and  mournful  all ! 

From  me  few  words,  more  tears,  Grief  wrings 

Tears  burning  as  they  fall. 

For  royal  halls  and  festive  bowers 

Where,  nobly  serving,  I 


Narro,  e'  n  parte  piangendo,  acerba  istoria; 

Ed  in  voi  la  memoria 

Di  voi,  di  me  rinnovo : 

Vostri  affetti  cortesi, 

Gli  anni  miei  tra  voi  spesi, 

dual  son,  qual  fui,  che  chiedo  ove  mi  trovo, 

Chi  mi  guido,  chi  chiuse, 

Lasso!  chi  m'  affido,  chi  mi  deluse? 

duesta  cose  piangendo, 

A  voi  rammento,  o  prole 

D'  Eroi,  di  Regi,  gloriosa  e  grande : 

E  se  nel  mio  lamento 

Scarse  son  le  parole, 

Lagrime  larghe  il  mio  dolor  vi  spande. 

Cetre,  trombe,  e  ghirlande 

Misero,  piango,  e  piagno 


154 

Shared  and  beguiled  your  private  hours, 
Studies,  and  sports  I  sigh ; 
And  lyre,  and  trump,  and  wreathed  flowers 
Nay  more,  for  freedom,  health,  applause, 
And  ev'n  HUMANITY'S  lost  laws  ! 

Why  am  I  chased  from  human  kind  1 

What  CIRCE  in  the  lair 

Of  brutes,  thus  keeps  me  spell-confined  1 

Nests  have  the  birds  of  air, 

The  very  beasts  in  caverns  find 

Shelter  and  rest,  and  share 

At  least  kind  Nature's  gifts  and  laws, 

For  each  his  food  and  water  draws 

From  wood  and  fountain,  where, 

Wholesome,  and  pure,  and  safe,  it  was 

Furnished  by  Heaven's  own  care; 


Studj,  diporli,  ed  agi, 

Mense,  logge,  e  palagi 

Ov'  or  fui  nobil  servo,  ed  or  compagno : 

Libertade,  e  salute, 

E  leggi  oime !  d'  umanita  perdute. 

Da'  nipoti  d'  Adamo, 

Oime !  chi  mi  divide 

O  qual  CIRCE  mi  spinge  infra  la  gregge  ? 

Oime !  che  in  tronco  o  in  ramo 

Augel  vien  che  s'  annide, 

E  fera  in  tana  ancor  con  miglior  legge. 

Lor  la  Natura  regge  : 

E  pure  e  dolci  e  fresche 

Lor  porge  1'  acque  il  fonte ; 

E  '1  prato  e  '1  colle  e  '1  monte 

Non  infette  salubri,  e  facili  esche; 


155 

And  all  is  bright  and  blest,  because 
FREEDOM  and  HEALTH  are  there ! 

I  merit  punishment,  I  own; 

I  erred,  I  must  confess  it ;  yet 

The  fault  was  in  the  tongue  alone  — 

The  heart  is  true.  —  Forgive  !  forget !  — 

I  beg  for  mercy,  and  my  woes 

May  claim  with  pity  to  be  heard ; 

If  to  my  prayers  your  ears  you  close, 

Where  can  I  hope  for  one  kind  word 

In  my  extremity  of  ill  1 

And  if  the  pang  of  hope  deferred 

Arise  from  discord  in  your  will, 

For  me  must  be  revived  again 

The  fate  of  Metius*  and  the  pain. 


E'l  ciel  libero,  e  1'aura 

Lor  luce  e  spira,  e  lor  scalda  e  ristaura. 

Merto  le  pene  errai 

Errai,  confesso  ;  e  pure 

Rea  fu  la  lingua,  il  cor  si  scusa  e  nega 

Chiedo  pietade  omai; 

E  s'alle  mie  s venture 

Non  vi  piegate  voi,  chi  lor  si  piega  1 

Lasso !  chi  per  me  prega 

Se  voi  mi  sete  sordet 

Deh  !  se  voler  discorde 

In  si  grand  uopo  mio  vi  fa  diverse, 

In  me  fra  voi  1"  esempio  . 

Di  MEZIO*  si  rinnovi,  e  '1  duro  scempio. 

*  Metius  was  torn  asunder  by  wild  horses. 


156 

I  pray  you  then,  renew  for  me 
The  charm  that  made  you  doubly  fair, 
In  sweet  and  virtuous  harmony 
Urging,  resistlessly,  my  prayer ; 
With  HIM  for  whose  lov'd  sake,  I  swear 
I  more  lament  my  fault  than  pains, 
Strange  and  unheard-of  as  they  are."  etc. 

Among  TASSO'S  madrigals,  it  has  already 
been  observed,  there  are  some  to  ANGELA,  a 
female  favorite  of  ALPHONSO'S,  for  whom  also 
three  of  his  sonnets  were  written.  In  the  two 
first  he  entreats  her  to  carry  his  prayers  to  the 
Duke,  and  in  the  third  says  her  angelic  voice 

"  Pardon  will  ask,  for  one  who  sings  and  weeps 
O'er  his  FOND  FAULTS,"  etc.* 


Gluell'  armonia  si  nova 

Di  virtu,  che  vi  face 

Si  belle,  or  bei  per  me  faccia  concenti, 

Sicch'  a  pieta  commova 

duel  Signer,  per  cui  spiace 

Piu  la  mia  colpe  a  me  che  i  miei  tormenti 

Lasso  !  benche  cocenti ;"  etc. 

*    "  Chiede  pieta  perun,  che  canta,  e  piange 
Gli  error  suoi  folli,"  etc. 

See  Rime,  parte  prima,  torn,  i.,  vol.  iii.,p.  125,  Sonnetto  239. 
See  also  Sonnets  228,  229,  244,  250, torn. i..  vol.  iii.,  and  Madri- 
gals 14,  20,  176,  118,  with  the  editor's  remarks  in  the  ed.  of 
Pisa. 


167 

One  of  the  strongest  of  the  poetic  proofs  to 
be  met  with  in  his  acknowledged  works,  has 
been  hithertONStrangely  neglected.  It  is  found 
in  the  canzone  to  the  PRINCE  of  TUSCANY, 
which,  even  in  ROSINI'S  essay,  is  not  cited, 
though  briefly  glanced  at  in  his  "  Avvertenze."* 

"  But  I — than  other  lovers'  state, 
So  much  more  hard,  alas  !  my  own, 
As  Love  less  cruel  is  than  Hate — 
Must  sigh  to  winds  that  round  me  moan, 
Just  anger  at  my  unjust  Fate  — 
And  not  for  sweet  illusions  flown, 
Averted  look,  or  prudish  air, 
False  words,  or  a  deceitful  tone, 
Disdainful  smile,  or  frown  severe, 
Nor  roses  lost,  nor  lilies  flown, 
Nor  glove,  nor  veil  reclaimed,  alone- 
No  !  no !  alas  !  from  none  of  those 
Arise  my  far  more  serious  woes. 

For  I,  unhappy  wretch  !  complain 

Of  torments  strange  and  new 

Save  in  the  realms  of  hate  and  pain, 

Nor  does  a  tear  for  me  bedew 

Even  Pity's  cheek,  which  free  from  stain 


*  Rime,  torn.  iv.  vol.  vi.,  p.  219,  ed.  di  Pisa,  he  merely  says: 
"  Si  osservino  i  tre  primi  versi  e  gli  ultimi  cinque  delle 
stanza  iii."  The  canzone  is  at  page  138  of  the  same  volume. 

VOL.  II.  14 


158 

Wears  a  pale  marble  hue. 
Nor  of  my  living  hell  the  gates 
Can  I  break  down,  where  angels  deign 
My  faults  to  punish,  like  the  Fates, 
Because  I  dared  in  burning  strain 
On  my  poor  lyre  my  griefs  to  own, 
Like  ORPHEUS  finding  once  again 
My  PROSERPINE  can  turn  to  stone  !"* 


PEL    PRINCIPE    DI    TOSCANA    DA    S.  ANNA. 


lo,  che  tanto  piu  sono 

D'ogni  amanto  infelice, 

Cluanto  odio  e  piu  d'  amor  pronto  a  far  danno, 

Aure,  in  voi  spargo  il  suono, 

Che  del  mio  petto  elice 

Or  giusto  sdegno,  ed  or  non  giusto  affanno  : 

Non  d'  un  soave  inganno 

Di  voce  lusinghiera : 

Non  d'  un  guardo  furtive : 

Non  d'  un  sembiante  schivo  : 

Non  d'  un  fronte  rigida  e  severa: 

Non  d'  un  guanto,  o  d'  un  velo, 

Che  gigli  copra,  e  rose,  i'  mi  querelo. 

Misero!  masidoglio 

De'  piu  nuovi  tormenti, 

Che  abbia  il  regno  dell'  odio,  e  della  sorte 

E  veggio  farsi  scoglio 

Pietade  a'  miei  lament!, 


159 

Farther  poetical  extracts  would  but  swell 
this  volume,  already  larger  than  was  at  first 
intended.  A  reference  to  other  productions  is 
subjoined  for  the  sake  of  those  who  desire  to 
continue  their  researches;*  the  rest  of  our 


Tinta  nel  volto  di  pallor  di  morte ; 

Nfe  posso  aprir  le  porte 

Di  questo  vivo  Inferno, 

Ove  son  degli  errori 

Gli  Angioli  i  punitori, 

Perch'  io  sfoghi  cantando  il  duolo  interno 

Novo  Orfeo  colla  cetra  ; 

Tanto  la  mia  Proserpina  s'  impetra !"  etc. 

*  See,  in  addition  to  the  Rirne  already  cited,  as  addressed  to 
the  Princess  LEONORA,  and  those  hereafter  referred  to,  as  quoted 
by  Rosini,  the  following,  on  account  of  their  connection  either 
with  his  love,  his  madness,  or  imprisonment. 

TOM.  I. 

Sonnets  165,  185,  220, 228,  229,  239,  217,  249,  250,  258,  259, 
364,  423, 424,  425,  426 ;  note  in  the  latter  "  la  data,  fede." 

TOM.  II. 

Madrigals  44,  51,  55,  128,  129,  160,  163,  175,  203,  237,  242, 
243,  247,  241),  273,  374,  375,  376,  378. 

TOM.  III. 

Sonnets  77,81,  83,  84,  85,  88,  95,  97,  100,  102,  108,  109,  110, 
111,144,461. 


160 


readers  will  doubtless  be  satisfied  with  a  single 
prose'  quotation.  It  is  from  a  letter  to  the  Duke 
of  Urbino. 

"  I  entreat  your  serene  highness  to  favor  me 
with  my  Lord  Duke,  and  the  Lord  Cardinal 
Guastavillani,  to  the  end  that  I  may  be  released 
from  this  prison  of  Sant'  Anna  without  being 
troubled  for  those  things  which  from  phrenzy 
I  have  done  and  written  in  matters  of  LOVE."* 

The  autograph  of  this  letter  is  now  no  longer 
to  be  found,t  ancfin  the  editions  of  the  day  the 
place  of  the  last  word  is  supplied  by  a  blank. 

MANSO,  indeed,  gives  it  as  it  was  ;  but  his 
authority  might  be  disputed  if  it  were  not  for 


TOM.  IV. 

Sonnets  42, 58,  83,  84,  and  sonnets  2,  3,  7,  8, 10,  of  the  Rime 
Piacevoli. 
Madrigal  1. 

RIME  INEDITE. 
Madrigals  5, 6,  '-0,  20, 25,  40,  41,  56,  61, 62,  63. 

*  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  p.  287,  288. 

•t  Rosini  Cavedoniana,  part  iii.,  p.  23. 


161 


MURATORI'S.*  That  candid,  erudite,  and  judi- 
cious critic  fills  the  blank  in  the  letter  at  a 
time,  when  being  librarian  to  the  Duke  of 
Modena,  he  must  have  seen  the  original.  The 
question  of  its  authenticity,  therefore,  is  irrevo- 
cably settled,  and  with  it  the  cause  of  TASSO'S 
imprisonment.  Taken  in  connection  with  the 
foregoing  proofs,  it  leaves  little  room  for  doubt, 
though  the  details  are  unknown  to  us,  and 
perhaps  doomed  to  remain  so.  ' 

There  can  be  no  difficulty  at  least  in  adopt- 
ing the  opinion  of  CORNIANI,  expressed  in  his 
own  grave  and  measured  terms.  After  quoting 
MURATORI'S  letter  to  APOSTOLO  ZENO,  and 
remarking  upon  the  impossibility  of  reconciling 
the  heavy  penalty  inflicted,  with  the  incon- 
siderate offence  ^alleged,  he  adds: 

"  Is  it  not  more  reasonable  to  believe  that 
jealous  honor  prompted  ALPHONSO  to^  such 
otherwise  inexplicable  severity  ?  In  my  opinion, 
the  imprisonment  of  TASSO  is  as  great  a 


*  Letter  to  Apostolo^Zeno.     Lettere,  torn,  ir.,  p.   Ill,  delle 
operedi  T.  Tasso,  ed.  di  Pisa. 

14* 


162 

mystery  as  the  exile  of  OVID,  and  probably  of 
the  same  character."* 


*  .  .  .  "  E  non  sara  piu  ragionevole  il  credere  che  gelosa 
cura  di  onore  offeso  inducesse  Alfonso  ad  una  tale  inesplicabile 
severita  7  La  prigionia  del  Tasso  e  a  mio  credere  un  arcano 
equale  a  quello  dell'  esilio  di  Ovidio  e  forse  della  medesima 
indole."  I  secoli  della  Letteratura  Italiana  Epoca  Sesta,  art. 
xxx.,  §  v.,  vol.  vi.,  pp.  232,  233,  ed.  di  Brescia,  1819. 


tea 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ENOUGH,  perhaps,  has  been  said  on  this  part 
of  our  subject,  if  we  are  to  stop  at  the  limits  of 
strict  proof.  But  curiosity  has  long  busied 
itself  with  conjectures,  and  our  task  would  be 
unfinished  if  all  notice  of  them  were  omitted. 
It  will  be  remembered,  that  in  one  of  the  frag- 
ments of  his  mutilated  discourse  to  GONZAGA, 
he  observes,  speaking  of  his  poems,  "  And  if 
they  contained  anything  lascivious,  like  tares 
among  the  wheat,  it  is  known  that  I  intended 
to  correct  it."  Ominous  blanks  precede  and 
follow  this  sentence.  Without  ascribing  to  the 
court  of  Ferrara  greater  rigor  than  belonged  to 
an  age  which  worshipped  ARIOSTO,  and  patro- 
nized ARETINO,  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  that 
TASSO'S  sins  against  decency —  very  far  lighter 
in  comparison  —  should  have  been  visited  with 
any  great  indignation,  unless  they  affected  an 
exalted  personage. 

In  his  canzone  to  the  Prince  of  Tuscany,  he 


164 


says,  "  he  is  punished  in  a  living  hell  by  angels, 
because  he  unburthened  his  bosom  to  his  lyre  ;" 
and  in  his  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Urbino  he 
speaks  of  the  things  "  which  through  phrensy 
he  had  done  and  written  in  matters  of  love." 
Before  his  journey  to  France  he  left  with  Ron- 
dinelli  some  compositions,  which  he  desired 
"  should  be  buried  with  him."  The  improba- 
bility that  these  productions  were  written  for 
another  has  already  been  remarked.  TASSO'S 
solicitude  that  they  should  never  see  the  light, 
favors  the  belief  that  they  related  to  himself. 
This  desire  could  not  have  arisen  from  literary 
demerit,  which  is  not  the  fault  of  his  passionate 
effusions.  If  he  judged  differently  why  not 
destroy  them  ?  Does  not  their  very  preserva- 
tion lead  us  to  infer  they  must  have  had  an  in- 
terest stronger  than  any  that  attaches  to  verses 
extorted  by  the  importunity  of  a  friend?  —  as- 
sociations too  powerful  and  too  tender  for  his 
prudence  or  his  firmness  ?  A  personal  refer- 
ence in  the  only  one  distinctly  specified  has 
been  conclusively  shown ;  and  the  energy  of 
language  to  be  found  in  all  his  most  objectiona- 
,ble  pieces,  authorizes  a  like  presumption  with 
respect  to  the  rest  also.  Who  writes  for  ano- 


165 


ther  as  he  writes  for  himself?  We  have  seen 
that  several  of  his  sonnets  were  falsely  enti- 
tled, and  the  one  sent  to  LEONORA  from  Castel- 
Durante  was  described  as  having  been  "  com- 
posed for  a  hapless  lover  sometime  in  anger 
with  his  mistress,"  merely  for  disguise.  Is  it 
probable  such  a  mask  was  only  once  worn  ? 
That  the  papers  left  with  Rondinelli  were  the 
same  alluded  to  in  the  discourse,  or  the  same 
pryed  into  by  Madalo,  is  of  course  incapable 
of  proof.  What  may  be  safely  affirmed  is, 
that  some  of  his  productions  contained  passages 
exceptionable  for  their  freedom,  "  like  tares 
among  the  wheat,"  "  which  it  was  known  he 
intended  to  correct,"  and  that  he  deemed  this 
circumstance  of  consequence  enough  to  be 
noted  in  connection  with  his  imprisonment,  and 
other  important  events  of  his  life,  in  an  apolo- 
getic treatise. 

But  in  what  manner  could  the  intended  cor- 
rection of  these  verses  bear  upon  his  imprison- 
ment, or  interest  those  who  caused  it,  unless 
the  verses  themselves  referred  to  some  one  very 
dear  to  the  Duke  ?  Why  should  "  bitter  rigor," 
and  "  unwonted  arts,"  be  used  to  extort  con- 
fession of  unimportant  "  words  and  acts,"  and 


166 


how  could  their  avowal  increase  ALPHONSO'S 
ire,  if  he  were  unconnected  with  the  person 
whom  those  "  acts  and  words"  concerned  ? 

If  we  suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  that  his 
imprisonment  was  occasioned  by  the  acciden- 
tal or  treacherous  disclosure  of  amatory  poetry, 
suspected  to  be  addressed  to  the  Princess, 
everything  becomes  intelligible' —  his  mis- 
tress's early  injunctions  of  silence  —  his  direc- 
tions to  Rondinelli — the  dearer  mysteries  of 
his  heart  half-hinted  to  GONZAGA  —  the  refer- 
ence to  her  who  corresponded  so  little  to  his 
love — his  heavy  sin  of  temerity  —  Madalo's 
more  important  treasons  —  the  attempt  to  extort 
confession  —  the  bitter  rigor  and  unwonted  arts 
—  the  words  and  acts  that  might  increase  Al- 
phonso's  ire  —  the  order  to  feign  insanity  —  the 
sacrifice  of  Abraham  —  the  command  that  he 
must  aspire  to  no  fame  of  letters — the  prohibi- 
tion to  write — the  anger  of  the  Princesses  — 
the  allusions  to  his  fond  faults  —  to  his  Proser- 
pine —  to  Ixion,  and  to  the  angels  that  punished 
him. 

By  this  supposition,  also,  LEONORA'S  volun- 
tary celibacy,  notwithstanding  the  most  advan- 
tageous offers  of  marriage,  and  TASSO'S  con- 


167 


slant  devotion  to  the  Duke,  in  spite  of  the  rigor 
of  his  chastisement,  are  sufficiently  accounted 
for. 

ROSINI  anxiously  sought,  and  believes  he  has 
discovered,  the  identical  verses  that  caused 
TASSO'S  punishment.  He  adduces  several, 
sufficiently  inexcusable,  but  their  very  number 
provokes  a  doubt,  and  there  is  nothing  that  ir- 
resistibly connects  any  of  them  with  LEONORA. 
If  they  do  indeed  refer  to  her,  they  overpass  so 
far  the  bounds  of  respect  and  modesty,  as  to 
indicate  weakness  on  her  part,  or  vain-glorious 
falsehood  on  his.  In  either  case,  happy  would 
it  have  been  for  him  if  he  had  never  written, 
what  it  is  alike  disreputable  to  feign  or  to  be- 
tray —  the  mysteries  that  faith,  delicacy,  and 
even  love  itself,  hold  for  ever  inarticulate.* 


*  The  rhymes  quoted  by  Rosini  are  the  following: 
Tom.   L,  sonnets  348,  185;  torn,  ii.,  dialogue  ii.,  p.  119; 
torn,  i.,  sonnets  258,  259  ;  Rime  Inedite,  madrigal  62  ;  the  quar- 
tina  and  stanza  from  the  Albert!  MSS.,  hereafter  given,  and  the 
following,  from  the  same  source,  published  by  Signer  Betti : 

"  Fiamma  d'  amor,  che  mi  divori  il  petto 
Spengi  una  volta  il  tuo  fatale  ardore  : 
Libcrtade  perdei,  e  d"  intelletto 


168 


Whether  the  circumstances  alluded  to  in 
these  rhymes  were  feigned  or'real,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  absolve  TASSO  from  the  deepest  cen- 
sure. How  must  the  Princess  have  been  out- 
raged in  either  alternative  !  In  one  there  was 
a  breach  of  truth  —  in  the  other  of  confidence 
—  in  both  of  honor.  The  very  excellence  of 
the  poetry  is  an  aggravation  of  the  injury,  since 
it  rendered  not  only  public,  but  immortal,  that 
which,  whether  true  or  false  —  proceeding  from 
the  delirium  of  joy  or  of  fancy  —  her  lover 
should  have  buried  in  eternal  silence.  If  his 
raptures  were  imaginary,  disgust  and  contempt 
must  to  some  extent  replace  the  pity  we  have 
felt  for  him.  If  real,  his  vanity  and  imprudence 
find  palliation  only  in  the  unnatural  obstacles 
which  power  and  prejudice  opposed  to  a  law- 
ful union  with  the  object  of  his  affections.  Ro- 
SINI  inclines  to  the  first  opinion,  and  supports 
it  principally  by  these  reasons.  He  was  par- 
doned by  LEONORA;  he  was  not  condemned  to 


Privo  mi  vuol  1'  irato  mio  Signore; 
D'  Eleonora  ottener  non  puoi  1'  affetto 
Dunque  a  che  giova  un  disperato  amorel 
Vanne  lunghi  da  me,  vanne  in  eterno, 
II  fuoco  ad'  aumentar  giu  nell  Averno." 


169 


death  by  the  Duke.  The  Professor  imagines 
that  the  Princess  would  more  readily  forgive 
the  boast  of  favors  never  won,  than  the  viola- 
tion of  confidence  reposed  ;  and  therefore  at- 
tributes to  the  poet  what  he  esteems  the  lesser 
crime.  Those  little  skilled  in  such  casuistry, 
and  between  offences  equally  dishonorable  un- 
willing to  decide,  may  find  room  to  doubt  the 
forgiveness  of  LEONORA,  perhaps  even  her  con- 
stancy. The  proof  of  the  pardon  advanced  by 
ROSINI  is  in  its  very  terms  equivocal,  and  still 
farther  impaired  by  the  sonnet  and  canzone  to 
the  Princesses,  and  the  sonnet  to  the  Marquis 
of  PALENO.* 

A  sufficient  cause  for  the  anger,  though  not 
for  the  cruelty  of  the  Duke,  and  a  justification 
of  the  subsequent  passiveness  of  his  sister, 
though  scarcely  of  her  apparent  indifference  to 
the  severity  of  her  lover's  punishment,  may  un- 
doubtedly be  found  in  the  various  quotations 
combined  by  the  Professor.  The  productions 
cited,  true  or  false,  if  they  related  to  LEONORA, 


*  Rime,  parte  prima,  torn,  i.,  vol.  iii.,  p.  221,  sonnet  431,  and 
ante,  p.  48,  vol.  i.,  and  p.  151,  vol.  ii. 

VOL.  n.  15 


170 


must  have  wrung  the  most  sensitive  portion  of 
a  woman's  and  a  brother's  heart.  Though  not 
destined  to  see  the  light,  merely  to  have  written 
them  was  a  fault  which  any  high-spirited 
female,  whether  PRINCESS  or  peasant,  might 
forgive  possibly,  but  never  could  forget.  Such 
wounds  time  and  repentance  may  indeed  heal, 
but  they  always  leave  behind  them  sad  memen- 
toes of  past  suffering  and  imperfect  cure.  With 
the  first  serious  wrong  committed  on  either 
side,  LOVE  loses  half  his  divinity :  borne  down 
by  the  weight  of  our  infirmities,  his  pinions 
droop,  as  if  loaded  by  the  fogs  of  earth,  until 
from  the  heavens,  to  which  he  soared,  in  the 
ardor  and  confidence  of  soul,  that  claims 
kindred  with  the  stars,  he  sinks  to  the  level  of 
mortality,  never  more  to  rise  beyond  it. 

ROSINI'S  second  argument,  on  which  he  most 
relies  —  the  capital  punishment  that  awaited 
TASSO,  if  his  verses  had  been  deemed  true  — 
is  sustained  by  a  reference  to  the  secret  history 
of  the  times.  The  miserable  fate  of  Duke 
ALPHONSO'S  first  wife,  LTJCRETIA  de'  Medici, 
daughter  of  COSIMO  L,  and  of  Maria  de'  Me- 
dici, her  sister,  show  the  facility  with  which 


171 


death  was  then  inflicted  for  similar  offences.* 
And  though  by  an  extraordinary  exception 
TASSO'S  life  might  have  been  spared,  ROSINI 
conceives  he  would  never  have  been  liberated. 
But  supposing  his  verses  to  be  false,  the  order 
to  feign  madness  may  have  seemed  an  adequate 
and  appropriate  penalty  to  the  Duke,  according 
to  the  opinion  of  the  Professor.  Subsequently 
refusing  to  abide  by  the  imposture,  and  pro- 
claiming his  sanity,  the  imprisonment  in  Sant' 
Anna,  which  was  colored  with  the  pretence  of 
care,  savored,  in  reality,  more  of  vengeance 
than  of  justice.  Yet  it  may  well  be  objected, 
that  the  penalty  of  TASSO'S  transports  was 
severe  enough,  even  if  they  were  true,  while 
the  stain  of  princely  honor  was  made -more 
doubtful  by  imputed  madness,  than  even  by 
death  itself. 

After  all,  however,  affected  insanity  might 


*  These  are  the  examples  cited  by  Rosini,  Saggio,  99.  He 
might  have  added  the  fate  of  the  Duke  of  Andria,  the  lover  of 
the  Princess  of  Venosa.  Rime  Inedite,  vol.  xxxii.,  delle  opere 
di  Tasso,  pp.  9,  166;  and  those  of  the  Page  Malatesta  of  Ri- 
mini, the  lover  of  Maria  de'  Medici,  and  Bernardo  Antinori, 
the  lover  of  Leonora  di  Toledo  de'  Medici.  Origine  e  De- 
seendenza  della  Real  Cata  de'  Medici,  313,  328,  MSS. 


172 


appear  to  the  Duke  a  just,  and  not  dispropor- 
tionate punishment  for  the  temerity  of  plighted 
vows,  or  the  project  of  a  secret  marriage,  and 
the  mind  would  fain  escape  by  this  unsupported 
conjecture,  from  conclusions  derogatory  to  the 
fame  of  the  poet,  and  the  honor  of  LEONORA. 

When  persons  of  such  extraordinary  merit 
have  suffered  in  their  lives  misery  as  signal  as 
their  genius  was  eminent,  it  seems  hard  to  con- 
demn them,  after  death,  on  mere  probabilities. 
Posthumous  attainder  is  nearly  banished  from 
modern  legislation,  and  if  in  ordinary  tribunals 
doubt  insures  acquittal,  how  much  more  should 
it  do  so  when  posterity  sits  in  judgment  upon 
the  illustrious  unfortunate,  who  found  refuge 
from  their  sufferings  only  in  the  grave. 

They  still  preserve  in.  the  library  of  Ferrara, 
a  MS.  collection  of  poems  sent  by  TASSO  to 
the  Princesses,  with  the  following  dedication  : 

"  To  the  Princesses  of  Ferrara. 

"  I  dedicate  to  your  highnesses  these  rhymes, 
composed  during  these  last  years  of  my  wretch- 
edness, that  it  may  be  seen  neither  the  malignity 
of  men  nor  of  fortune  have  power  to  efface 


173 


your  worth  and  merit  from  my  memory,  or  to 
take  from  me  the  desire  to  serve  and  honor 
you  ;  and  I  flatter  myself  with  the  hope,  that 
if  you  perceive  the  spirit  both  of  mind  and  of 
heart  in  which  they  are  written,  it  will  not  go 
unrecompensed.  Among  the  greatest  of  re- 
wards, however,  I  shall  esteem  their  passage, 
under  the  protection  of  your  glorious  names,  to 
the  light  of  the  world  and  the  knowledge  of 
men,  where,  so  long  as  they  last,  they  will  re- 
eord  your  greatness  and  virtues,  and  my  sincere 
devotion.  Ferrara,  20th  November,  1580."* 

His  discourse  on  female  virtue,  in  which  he 
also  takes  occasion  to  praise  the  sisters,  was 
probably  written  about  the  same  period. 

According  to  SERASSI,  the  DUCHESS  of  UR- 
BINO  enjoyed  these  marks  of  TASSO'S  respect 
and  gratitude,  but  LEONORA  was  no  longer  in  a 
condition  to  favor  the  poet,  or  listen  to  his  muse. 
Her  health  had  long  been  declining,  and  soon 
gave  signs  of  approaching  dissolution.  The 
last  remaining  trace  of  her  lover's  remembrance 
is  preserved  in  the  following  letter.  It  is 


*  Letlere,  torn.  ii.,p.  261. 

15* 


174 


directed  to  Father  Francis   Panigarola,  then 
much  celebrated  for  his  eloquence. 

"  I  have  heard,  with  the  greatest  satisfaction, 
that  your  reverence  is  in  Ferrara,  and  I  pray 
you  to  visit  me,  for  to  you  permission  will  be 
readily  granted  whenever  you  please  ;  and  if 
you  cannot  do  me  that  kindness,  at  least  be 
good  enough  to  write  to  me.  I  have  sent  you 
many  letters,  but  either  they  have  not  reached 
your  hands,  or  your  answers  have  not  come  to 
mine,  for  every  other  supposition  is  forbidden 
by  your  courtesy.  I  continue  the  same  devoted 
servant  and  admirer  of  your  reverence  that  I 
always  was,  and  love  you  as  I  love  few  others, 
and  as  you  are  loved  by  few.  If  Madam  LEO- 
NORA'S health  improves,  as  I  most  earnestly  de- 
sire and  hope,  I  pray  your  reverence  most 
humbly  to  kiss  her  hands  in  my  name,  and  say 
to  her  for  me,  that  I  have  been  deeply  grieved 
at  her  illness,  which  I  have  not  mourned  in 
verse,  from  I  know  not  what  secret  repugnance 
of  spirit.  But  if  in  anything  else  I  can  serve 
her,  she  has  but  to  command  me  ;  I  speak  espe- 
cially of  poetry  on  more  cheerful  subjects. 

'*  To  the  serene  lady  DUCHESS  I  entreat  my 


175 


respects,  and  remind  her  where  I  am.     Live 
happy.     From  Ferrara."* 

Nothing  appears  to  show  whether  this  letter 
was  ever  answered.  The  hopes  of  LEONORA'S 
recovery  which  it  expresses  were  delusive.  She 
passed  soon  after  to  a  better  life,  in  the  forty-fourth 
year  of  her  age,  with  all  the  marks  of  Christian 
piety  and  resignation.  Her  death  is  thus 
briefly  recorded  in  the  MS.  annals  of  Ferrara. 

"  On  the  10th  of  February,  1581,  died 
MADAM  LEONORA,  daughter  of  Duke  HERCULES 
II.,  who  preferred  a  life  of  celibacy." 

She  was  lamented  in  a  volume  of  poetry, 
where  contributions  may  be  found  from  nearly 
all  the  genius  of  her  time  and  country.  The 
name  of  TASSO  alone  is  wanting.  Serassi  as- 
cribes it  to  the  jealousy  of  Ducchi,  who  col- 
lected them,  yet  admits  that  no  verses  on  that 
occasion  exist  among  his  author's  writings,  and 
elsewhere  imputes  TORQUATO'S  silence  to  the 
magnitude  of  sufferings  that  admitted  no  new 

*  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  161. 


176 


grief,  or  the  little  interest  taken  by  the  Princess 
in  his  misfortunes,  and  her  omission  to  solicit 
his  release.*  Since  the  days  of  his  biographer 
another  half  century  has  gone  by,  bringing  to 
light  many  of  the  poet's  compositions.  But 
this  page  is  still  a  blank.  LAURA  was  wept  by 
PETRARCH  in  a  hundred  sonnets.t  From  TASSO 
LEONORA  received  not  one.  The  reasons  of 
this  silence,  and  of  his  former  jealousy,  as  well 
as  of  her  anger  or  indifference,  are  still  a  mys- 
tery. How  far  she  returned  his  affection,  those 
who  have  accompanied  us  to  this  point  in  our 
researches,  are  as  competent  to  determine  as 
ourselves.  We  affect  no  power  to  raise  the 
cloudy  veil  of  centuries  any  higher,  and  if  we 
could,  might  possibly  be  inclined  to  drop  it, 
after  satisfying  our  own  curiosity.  Nor  are  we 
at  all  disposed  to  venture  arguments  with 
which  few  would  be  satisfied.  The  lapse  of 
ages,  and  difference  of  country  and  customs, 
occasion  endless  variety  in  the  judgments  of 


*  Contrast  the  text  of  p.  298,  with  note  4  of  p.  297, 
Serassi,  Vita  di  Torquato  Tasso. 

t  Not  literally.  The  sonnets  are  but  ninety ;  there  are  ten 
stanzas,  however,  in  addition,  besides  the  "  Triumphs." 


177 


men,  and  as  the  world  pardons  everything  to 
greatness,  it  is  uncertain,  at  this  day,  taking  it 
throughout,  whether  LEONORA  would  be  more 
condemned  for  weakness  than  insensibility. 
For  ourselves  at  least  we  will  venture  no  opi- 
nion. The  question  is  too  grave  for  a  jurisdic- 
tion so  humble.  We  refer  it  to  our  fair  readers  ; 
and  in  a  matter  so  doubtful  each  may  find  plau- 
sible reasons  for  supposing  in  the  Princess  the 
just  degree  of  rigor  she  would  herself  prefer. 
Even  LEONORA'S  reputed  piety,  whence  many 
will  deduce  a  pure  and  constant  love,  unhap- 
pily admits  of  more  than  one  interpretation.  If 
the  disappointment  of  earthly  affections  natu- 
rally turns  the  innocent  heart  to  heaven,  it  is 
equally  true  that  penance  and  austerity  fre- 
quently close  a  life  of  pleasure ;  and  no  less 
certain  that  remorse  of  conscience  has  been 
pretended  as  an  excuse  for  deserting  one  lover, 
by  those  who  passed  instantly  to  the  arms  of 
another.  TASSO'S  affectionate  recollection  of 
the  PRINCESS,  almost  in  her  last  hours,  is,  how- 
ever, a  strong  proof  of  her  worth,  and  though 
we  may  not  with  Serassi  believe  her  quite  a 
saint,  her  religion  was  probably  ardent  and 
sincere. 


173 


Although  the  acknowledged  works  of  TASSO 
alone  have  been  resorted  to  for  the  materials  of 
this  essay,  the  following  productions  are  too 
remarkable  to  be  passed  over  in  silence.  They 
are  among  the  manuscripts  acquired  by  Count 
MARIANO  ALBERTI  of  Rome,  from  the  Prince 
FALCONIERI,  and  now  in  the  course  of  publica- 
tion. An  endorsement  on  the  first,  in  an  ancient 
hand-writing,  suggests  that  they  were  the  very 
lines  whose  discovery  subjected  TORQUATO 
to  the  Duke's  vengeance.  Without  entering 
into  the  question  of  their  authenticity,  which 
would  be  foreign  to  our  plan,  we  submit  them 
to  the  inspection  of  our  readers  :* 


*  Since  this  was  written,  Count  Alberti  has  greatly  disap- 
pointed the  expectations  of  his  friends  by  publishing  only  a 
part  of  the  alleged  MSS.  of  TASSO  in  his  possession. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  motive  for  withholding  others 
previously  exhibited  to  many,  and  of  which  even  written  copies 
were  in  circulation,  the  effect  has  been  to  create  a  great  diffi- 
dence in  respect  to  the  authenticity  of  the  whole.  The  restraints 
on  the  press  in  Italy,  however,  render  the  publication  of  such 
papers  so  difficult  that  their  suppression  must  not  be  judged 
harshly  without  full  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances,  and  it 
is  not  easy  to  resist  the  internal  evidence  of  genuineness  that 
some  of  them  exhibit,  especially  the  sonnet  beginning  "  Giurai 
Signor,"  etc.,  hereafter  quoted. 

The  MSS.  of  TASSO  acquired  by  Foppa,  descended,  it  is 


179 

1  O  when  shall  I,  with  my  own  LEONORE, 
Love's  dear  delights  in  liberty  renew  1 
Has  pitying  fate  indeed  such  joys  in  store? 
Laurels,  and  lyre,  and  bashfulness  adieu  !"* 

'  Of  LIFE  you  may  deprive  me,  mighty  lord, 
Such  right  from  monarch's  usurpation  springs ; 
But  REASON  —  gift  of  the  ETERNAL  WORD 
To  take  from  MAN  because  of  LOVE  he  sings  — 
Of  LOVE,  by  Heaven  and  Nature  taught  —  absurd ! 
Nay  worse,  a  crime  —  the  worst  of  crimes  in  kings 
Pardon  I  craved  —  denied  me  or  deferred, 
I  do  repent  my  soul's  repentant  stings  !"t 


certain,  to  the  Falcon  ieri  family,  and  existed  in  their  library 
when  Serassi  wrote  his  life  of  the  poet.  It  is  equally  clear  that 
Foppa  did  not  publish  all  the  inedited  poetry  they  contained , 
for  he  admits  it  in  his  preface.  How  much  of  it  Count  Alberti 
may  have  obtained  from  Prince  Falconieri,  is  another  question, 
not  yet  perhaps  ripe  for  adjudication.  See  Serassi,  Vita  di 
Tasso,  and  Foppa,  Opere  del  Tasso  non  piu  stampate. 

*  "  duando  sara  che  d'  ELEONORA  mia 
Possa  godermi  in  libertade  amorel 
Ah  !  pietoso  il  destin  tanto  mi  dia ! 
Addio  cetra,  addio  lauri,  addio  rossore:* 

t  "  Tormi  potrei,  alto  Signer  la  vita, 
Chfc  de'  monarchi  e  usurpato  dritto ; 
Ma  tormi  quel,  che  la  bonta  infinita 
Senno  mi  di6,  perchfe,  d'  AMORE  HO  SCRITTO, 
E  delitto  maggior  d'  ogni  delitto, 
PERDON  chiedei,  tu  mel  negasti  addio: 
Mi  pento  ognor  del  pentimento  mio." 


180 

"  TO   THE   MOST   ILLUSTRIOUS   AND 
SERENE    LORD    DUKE. 

I  swore,  my  lord  !  but  my  unworthy  oath 

Was  a  base  sacrilege  which  cannot  bind, 

Since  GOD  alone,  directs  and  governs  both, 

The  greatest  of  his  works,  the  HUMAN  MIND. 

REASON  I  hold  from  HIM.     Who  would  not  loathe 

Such  gift,  a  pledge  in  Power's  vile  hands  to  find  1 

Do  not  forget,  my  lord,  that  even  the  sway 

Of  sovereign  KINGS  has  bounds  at  which  it  ends; 

Past  them  they  rule  not,  nor  should  we  obey. 

He  who  to  any  mortal  being  bends 

One  step  beyond,  sins  'gainst  the  light  of  day : 

Thus  then,  my  soul  her  servile  shackles  rends! 

And  my  sound  mind  shall  henceforth  none  obey 

But  HIM  whose  reign  o'er  KINGS  and  worlds  extends/ 


*  "  Giurai  Signor,  ma  il  giuramento  mio 
Fu  un'  esecrando  sacrilegio  indegno 
Che  sol  governa  e  sol  dirige  IDDIO 
L'  opra  stupenda  dell'  umano  ingegno 
Cid  ch'  all  arbitrio  suo  serb6  com'  io 
Ceder  a  un  vil  poter  mentito  impegno  1 
E  delitto  Signor  porre  in  obblio 
Ch'  an  co  al  poter  dei  Re"  prerutto  e  un  segno ; 
Oltre  quello  non  v:  ha  legge  o  diritti, 
Oessan  del'  uomo  la  potesta  sovrano, 
E  un  passo  solo  e  un  imipeta  un  delitto. 
I  ceppi  io  frango  e  in  liberlade  intera, 
Rendo  il  dominio  di  mia  mente  sana 
A  quel  che  ai  Re  e  all'  universe  impera." 


181 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

NOTHING  now  remains  but  an  inquiry  into  the 
state  of  TASSO'S  mind  in  the  latter  years  of  his 
confinement.  Yet  this  is  not  without  interest 
and  difficulty.  We  have  brought  down  our 
sketches  of  his  history  to  the  summer  of  1581, 
and  until  that  time,  at  least,  the  general  effect 
of  the  evidence  is  clearly  in  favor  of  sanity. 
The  circumstances  contradicting  it  are  few 
and  weak,  or  susceptible  of  easy  explanation. 

Intending  however,  to  state  both  sides  of  the 
question  as  fairly  as  possible,  the  following 
brief  summary  will  show  what  parts  of  his 
correspondence  impugn  our  own  opinion.  The 
letters  to  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  and  the  Gonzaga, 
on  the  subject  of  the  inquisition  at  the  time  of  his 
first  imprisonment,  have  been  already  quoted  at 
length.  If  his  own  explanation  of  his  conduct 
about  that  period  is  to  be  credited,  he  feigned 
madness  by  command  of  the  Duke,  and  com- 

VOL.  II.  16 


182 


mitted  excesses  to  win  his  favor.  The  strange 
style  of  those  productions  is  thus  accounted  for. 
The  strong  suspicion  of  a  disordered  intellect 
they  must  have  created  in  the  mind  of  our 
readers,  was  not  sought  to  be  diminished  by 
any  artifice  of  ours.  It  yielded  to  the  subse- 
quent numerous  and  overwhelming  proofs  of 
sanity  contained  in  the  oration  to  the  Duke  of 
URBINO,  his  discourse  to  GONZAGA,  his  letters 
to  BUONCOMPAGNO  and  the  Cardinal  ALBANO, 
and  his  addresses  to  the  NOBLES  and  DEPUTIES 
of  NAPLES.  The  only  other  symptoms  occur- 
ring prior  to  the  autumn  of  1581,  are  those 
rather  of  melancholy  or  eccentricity  than  de- 
rangement, and  are  too  slight  to  shake  the 
conviction  produced  by  the  various  wonderful 
efforts  of  his  genius,  of  which  we  have  in  vain 
attempted  to  give  our  readers  an  idea  by  our 
feeble  translations.  To  enable  them,  however, 
to  form  their  own  judgment  on  that  point, 
instead  of  attempting  to  dictate  to  it,  we  will 
enumerate  all  that  occur  to  us. 

Writing  to  GONZAGA  in  1576,  on  the  24th  of 
March,  he  says : 

"  Your  lordship  will  find  a  letter  enclosed 


183 


which  was  written  to  me  from  Poland  by  M. 
ASCANIO.*  I  know  that  he  spoke  of  me  and 
my  poem  at  great  length  to  the  Duke,  and 
hence  my  humors  of  last  year  had  their 
origin."! 

This  refers  to  his  melancholy  and  fears  in 
1575,  when  he  went  before  the  inquisition  at 
Bologna.  But  it  has  already  been  observed, 
that  the  first  rumor  of  insanity  does  not  meet 
us  until  the  attack  on  the  servant  of  the  Duch- 
ess of  URBINO,  in  June,  1577,  two  years  after- 
wards. 

In  a  letter  of  his  to  Giovanni  Battista  Barile, 
dated  20th  July,  1578,  he  says : 

"  I  am  at  Pesara,  where,  notwithstanding  a 
most  friendly  reception  from  the  Duke  of  UR- 
BINO and  courteous  treatment  by  all  the  nobles, 
I  cannot  tranquillize  my  mind,  because  here, 
also,  it  seems  to  me  to  be  desired  that  I  should 
understand  and  converse  by  signs,  and  I  being 
a  reasonable  creature,  on  whom  nature  has  not 


*  Ascanio  Giraldini,  before  mentioned. 
t  Lettere,  torn,  iii.,  93,  94. 


184 


only  conferred  the  gift  of  speech,  but  (unless 
self-love  deceives  me)  the  power  to  speak  pro- 
perly, will  not  do  such  wrong  to  myself  as 
to  signify  my  thoughts  by  gesture  like  a  dumb 
brute ;  so  far  from  it,  that  I  desire  to  publish 
them  not  only  by  words  but  in  writing,  that 
they  may  be  known  to  men  now  and  for  ever."* 

The  rest  of  this  letter,  which  is  a  long  one, 
shows  not  the  least  mark  of  an  unsound  mind ; 
and,  resisted  as  that  supposition  is  by  the  many 
strong  proofs  already  cited,  it  is  more  reasona- 
ble to  imagine  that,  in  fact,  he  was  treated  as  he 
himself  declares,  either  because  the  report  of 
his  madness  was  believed,  or  because  the  court 
of  Urbino  thought  it  prudent  to  affect  a  belief 
in  it. 

His  apology  to  the  Cardinal  ALBANO  for  dis- 
trusting him  has  been  already  noticed,  and  con- 
sidering the  treachery  he  had  suffered,  and  the 
danger  he  had  incurred,  may  be  regarded  as 
evincing  merely  a  suspicious  turn  of  mind,  but 
too  natural  in  his  unhappy  condition,  and  which 


*  Lettere  Inedite,  p.  47,  vol.  xviii.,  at  the  end  of  Controversie, 
ed.  di  Pisa. 


185 

he  immediately  atoned  for  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power.  Writing  to  his  sister  Cornelia,  on  the 
14th  February,  1581,  he  says  : 

"  I  believe  there  is  no  other  impediment  to 
my  liberation  but  the  opinion  which  perhaps 
my  LORD  DUKE  entertains  of  my  eccentricity, 
(umore,)  and,  therefore,  to  satisfy  him  of  that, 
whereof  it  seems  to  me  he  might  be  already 
well  satisfied  that  I  will  run  into  no  folly,  I  arn 
ready  to  take  medicine,  and  submit  to  any 
regimen  except  water,  which  you  know  I  re- 
fused even  in  your  own  house,  and  which  you 
kindly  permitted  me  to  refuse." 

This  prepossession,  or  affectation  of  the 
Duke's  respecting  his  madness,  or  wish  that 
he  should  seem  mad,  is  no  proof  against  TASSO, 
in  whom  it  might  be  prudent  to  refer  to  it  thus 
cautiously.  His  dislike  of  water  was  invinci- 
ble, as  it  still  is  with  many  of  his  countrymen, 
who  think  that  beverage  unwholesome  ;  and 
besides  it  is  sufficiently  obvious  that  TORQUATO 
preferred  wine.*  With  these  explanations 


*  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  149;  iii.,  276. 
16* 


186 


there  is  nothing  in  the  letter  to  raise  a  doubt. 
He  goes  on  to  instruct  his  sister  respecting  the 
best  mode  of  soliciting  his  release,  tells  her 
what  help  she  may  expect,  and  what  means 
she  should  employ,  and  concludes  by  saying  : 

"  I  write  these  things  to  you,  thus  minutely, 
not  only  because  distance  depriving  me  of 
your  conversation,  I  like  to  write  familiarly  as 
I  would  speak  if  you  were  present,  but  because 
I  wish  you  to  be  informed  what  friendships 
and  acquaintance  and  dependence  I  have,  as 
well  as  of  those  things  which  some  call  humors, 
and  which,  whatever  they  may  be,  and  called 
by  what  name  you  please,  it  seems  tome  might 
be  easily  tolerated  anywhere,  even  in  court 
itself."* 

This  letter,  it  would  appear,  never  reached 
his  sister,  for  in  writing  to  her  afterwards,  on 
the  15th  of  April,  he  says  : 

"  You  appear  not  to  know  that  I  am  in 
prison  ;  and  perhaps  neither  the  manner  nor 

*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  pp.  71,  73. 


187 


description  of  my  confinement  is  known  to 
the  Duke  of  FERRARA,  nor  the  Duchess  of 
URBINO,  but  I  am  kept  here  at  the  pleasure 
of*  ...  into  whose  power,  thinking  to  do 
me  a  service,  I  was  led  by  Monsignoret  .  .  . 
and  he  uses  all  kind  of  rigor  and  inhumanity 
against  me,  contrary  to  the  faith  pledged  to  me 
by  Monsignore  above  mentioned,  and  disfavors 
me  in  everything,  especially  in  my  studies,  and 
in  writing,  and  in  printing  my  works,  in  which 
I  most  wish  to  be  helped  and  favored."! 

If  the  reference  here  is,  as  we  believe,  to 
the  Cardinal  d'  ESTE,  and  the  Cardinal 
ALBANO,  this  statement,  far  from  being  indica- 
tive of  insanity,  corresponds  with  what  seems 
to  have  been  TASSO'S  ultimate  conviction,  and 
to  us  still  appears  the  most  probable  conjecture, 
namely,  that  the  Cardinal  of  ESTE  was  even 
more  vindictive  than  the  Duke. 

In  his  letter  to  Cardinal  ALBANO,  dated  the 
23d  of  May,  1581,  and  already  quoted  entire, 


*  Probably  Cardinal  d'  Este. 

t  Cardinal  Albano. 

t  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  p.  215. 


188 


in  which  he  reasons  with  great  force  and  clear- 
ness upon  the  cruelty  and  absurdity  of  detain- 
ing him  in  prison  as  a  madman,  TASSO  excuses 
himself  for  striking  his  keeper  two  years  before, 
by  saying  he  did  it  believing  the  man  desired 
to  be  struck  by  him.  The  similarity  of  this 
apology  with  that  made  for  speaking  insolently 
of  the  Duke,  namely,  that  not  only  others,  but 
the  Duke  himself  desired  it,  savors  somewhat 
of  the  fixed  ideas,  and  single  trains  of  thought, 
applied  indifferently  to  every  one,  by  persons 
of  a  disordered  intellect.  Yet  it  is  more  than 
possible  that  the  keeper,  to  avoid  the  suspicion 
of  collusion  with  his  prisoner,  or  to  cover  some 
indulgence  granted  or  purchased,  may  have 
suggested  the  expediency  of  a  feigned  quarrel. 
If  this  conjecture  is  not  admissible,  we  are 
thrown  back  upon  the  weight  of  conflicting 
evidence,  and  the  question  how  far  these  com- 
paratively slight  circumstances  can  overbalance 
the  proofs  of  judgment,  learning,  and  sagacity, 
displayed  during  that  period  in  his  works. 

Another  difficulty  arises  from  his  dialogue 
"  11  Messagero."  This  was  written  in  15SO, 
and  he  there  introduces  a  familiar  spirit,  the 
same,  he  says,  who  appeared  to  him  four  years 


189 


previous,  and  whose  conversation  assuredly 
rather  soars  above,  than  falls  beneath,  the 
ordinary  standard  of  human  genius.*  It  would 
appear  that  this  imaginary  colloquy  was  after- 
wards urged  as  a  proof  of  his  insanity,  for  in 
writing  to  CATANEO  in  15S4,  he  says,  "  but  per- 
haps I  may  seem  to  contradict  myself,  because 
in  the  dialogue  of  '  THE  MESSENGER,'  I 
feigned  to  converse  with  a  spirit,  which  I  never 
would  have  done,  even  if  I  could  have  had  the 
power.  But  you  must  know  that  dialogue  was 
composed  by  me  several  years  ago,  at  the  com- 
mand of  a  princet  who  perhaps  had  no  evil 
intention,  nor  did  I  esteem  it  wrong  or  dangerous 
to  treat  the  subject  thus  poetically.  But  since 
then,  my  enemies  making  a  mockery  of  me, 
have  brought  me  to  the  extremity  of  wretched- 
ness, rendering  that  in  part  true  which  I  had 
but  fancied,"  etc.} 

Such  are  the  strongest  grounds  that  occurred 
to  us  in  the  course  of  our  investigations,  for 


*  See  the  Dialogue,  torn.  i.    Dialoghi,  p.  50,  vol.  vii.,  ed.  di 
Pisa. 

t  Probably  the  Prince  of  Mantua. 
t  See  the  whole  letter,  post. 


190 


sometimes  doubting  TASSO'S  entire  sanity,  and 
we  fear  not  to  expose  them  frankly  in  contrast 
with  the  different  proofs  of  a  contrary  character, 
which  in  the  end  produced  an  opposite  convic- 
tion. To  countervail  these  doubts,  besides  the 
number  and  excellence  of  his  works  in  verse 
and  prose,  and  his  own  irresistible  arguments 
on  the  question,  we  have  an  extensive  corres- 
pondence with  his  friends  during  the  whole 
time  from  1575  to  1581.  There  are  letters  to 
Cataneo  of  the  2Sth  of  March,  25th  of  June,  and 
28th  of  July;  to  his  sister  of  the  16th  of  June, 
and  to  Cardinal  ALBANO  of  the  7th  or  17th  of 
June,  and  9th  of  August  in  the  latter  year,  none 
of  which  exhibit  symptoms  of  derangement. 

To  CATANEO,  on  the  28th  of  March,  he 
writes : 

"  It  is  two  years  since  your  reverence,  by  the 
authority  of  Cardinal  ALBANO,  led  me  to  Fer- 
rara,  where  I  found  no  one  who  appeared  to 
know  any  thing  of  all  that  you  had  written  to 
me.  A  few  days  before  the  expiration  of  the 
two  years,  Count  Hercules  Tassone  brought 
me  a  letter  from  my  sister,  and  read  me  another, 
written,  if  1  remember  rightly,  from  the  Car- 


191 


dinal  to  himself.  I  have  not  seen  him  since, 
and  although  I  have  more  than  once  written  to 
the  Cardinal,  I  have  received  no  answer,"  etc. 

He  prays  CATANEO  to  procure  the  influence 
of  the  republic  of  Venice,  "  so  that  the  com- 
merce of  letters  may  be  opened  to  him." 

On  the  16th  June  he  sends  his  sister  a  sonnet 
on  Don  JOHN  of  AUSTRIA,  to  be  shown  to  divers 
noble  personages,  with  whom  he  prays  her  to 
intercede  for  his  liberty,  which  a  sister  may 
with  propriety  do  for  a  brother. 

"  Of  myself,  and  my  condition,"  he  con- 
tinues, "  I  know  not  what  else  to  write  to  you 
save  that  I  am  sick  and  in  prison,  and  desirous 
of  liberty.  My  faults  have  been  mercifully 
punished  by  our  LORD  GOD  ;  of  men  1  will  not 
speak  —  may  it  please  his  Divine  Providence 
to  remind  them  that  they  are  of  mortal  birth, 
and  that  I  too  was  born  a  man,  and  would 
die  so !" 

This  apostrophe  alludes,  no  doubt,  to  his 
imputed  madness.  It  is  remarkable  that  neither 
in  this,  nor  in  the  preceding  letter  to  this  sister, 


192 


nor  in  any  other  part  of  his  correspondence,  is 
the  slightest  reference  to  be  found  to  the  death 
of  LEONORA.* 

In  his  letter  to  Cardinal  ALBANO  of  the  17th 
June,  he  says : 

"  Count  Hercules  Tassone  brought  me,  last 
month,  a  letter  from  my  sister,  which  suggests 
to  me  the  recovery  of  part  of  my  mother's 
fortune.  Afterwards,  not  many  days  ago,  in 
the  presence  of  the  Prince  of  MANTUA,  he 
gave  me  another,  and  at  the  same  time  one 
from  Signore  MAURIZIO,  your  secretary,  to 
which  I  replied,  and  would  have  given  my 
answer  to  the  Count  if  he  had  returned.  I 
know  not  what  to  add  to  my  first  letter,  unless 
it  be  that  I  am  disposed,  not  merely  from  my  own 
inclinations,  but  also  from  the  counsel  of  your 
Signore  MAURIZIO,  to  write  and  speak  willingly 
with  all  honor  of  the  Duke  of  FERRARA,  and  if 
Count  HERCULES  will  show  you  the  copy  of  a 
work  on  nobility  which  I  gave  to  the  Prince 


*  As  the  Princess  died  on  the  10th,  he  might  not  have  heard 
of  it  on  the  14th  of  February,  but  it  is  scarcely  to  be  supposed 
he  remained  ignorant  of  it  on  the  16  th  June. 


193 


of  MANTUA,  you  will  see  that  I  have  not  written 
otherwise  of  his  highness  than  as  a  devoted 
servant  ought.  In  like  manner  I  will  write 
another  of  dignity,  which  I  would  send  your 
lordship  if  I  knew  how,  and  so  much  for  what 
you  advise  me  respecting  the  Duke  of  FERRARA. 
The  other  princes  I  will  honor  to  the  utmost  of 
my  power,  or  at  least  force  myself  not  to  offend. 
"  Will  your  lordship  think  how  far,  by  honor- 
ing, rather  than  not  offending  them,  I  may  be 
able  to  obtain  my  liberty,  and  think  also  of  my 
present  state  and  my  past  ?  I  sent  this  morning 
to  my  sister  a  sonnet  on  Don  JOHN  of  AUSTRIA, 
that  it  might  be  shown  to  Signore  MAURIZIO.  I 
pray  your  lordship  would  deign  to  read  it,  and 
remind  the  Duchess  to  expedite  my  liberation. 
From  Ferrara  in  Sant'  Anna,  7th  June,  1581."* 

Writing  to  MAURIZIO  CATANEO,  on  the  25th 
June,  he  mentions  the  letter  from  his  sister, 


*  The  date  of  this  letter,  as  given  in  the  printed  works,  is  as 
above,  but  as  the  sonnet  is  mentioned  as  having  been  sent  to  his 
sister  in  the  letter  of  the  16th,  before  cited,  it  is  obvious  that  the 
true  date  of  that  to  the  Cardinal  is  the  17th.  Leltere,  torn,  v., 
p.  74. 

VOL.  II.  17 


194 


and  the  dialogues  on  nobility  and  dignity,  as 
well  as  his  belief  that  "  the  Cardinal  could 
open  to  him  the  commerce  of  letters  ;"  "  and 
if  there  has  been  any  impediment  put  to  it,  as 
I  suspect,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  Duke, 
the  Cardinal's  authority  is  such  that  he  could 
easily  remove  it,  not  only  because  it  has  been 
so  affirmed  to  me  by  many,  but  also  because 
my  own  reason  persuades  me  of  it.  I  cannot 
believe  that  the  Duke  is  informed  of  the  nature 
of  my  malady,  which  never  can  be  cured  in  this 
prison,  and  I  fear,  if  they  are  much  longer 
delayed,  all  remedies  will  be  in  vain.  I  there- 
fore pray  the  Cardinal,  that  the  more  desirous 
he  is  of  my  health,  the  more  solicitous  he  will 
be  for  my  freedom,"  etc.* 

On  the  28th  July  he  writes  to  Cataneo  thus  : 

"  Since  the  Count  Hercules  brought  me  my 
sister's  last  letter,  I  have  written  to  you  so  often 
that  you  will  readily  pardon  me  if  I  forget  not 
only  the  number  of  the  letters,  but  their  con- 


*  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  pp.  75,  76,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


195 

tents.  This  at  least  I  remember,  that  I  prayed 
your  Lord  Cardinal  to  make  interest  for  my 
liberation,  to  the  end  that  before  the  coming 
autumn  I  may  go  to  the  baths,  and  I  now  remind 
you  of  it,  and  pray  you  to  solicit  his  lordship, 
for  it  is  a  question  affecting  my  life,  which  will 
be  in  great  peril  if  speedy  remedy  be  not  found 
for  my  illness.  I  beg  to  recall  to  your  remem- 
brance the  affair  of  the  privileges  ;*  for  those 
of  Lucca  you  may  speak  in  my  name  to  the 
good  Philip  de'  Nobili.  Salute  our  friends,  and 
our  Lord  God  be  with  you.  From  Ferrara  in 
Sant'  Anna."t 

He  tells  Cardinal  ALBANO  on  the  9th  of 
August,  that 

"  Signore  Alexander  Pocaterra  will  inform 
your  lordship  of  my  willingness  to  write  and 
please  the  Duke  of  FERRARA,  as  far  as  possible 
in  my  weak  and  infirm  condition,  and  at  the 
same  time,  of  the  desire  I  have  to  be  at  liberty, 
without  which  there  is  no  hope  of  health  for  me. 


*  Probably  for  printing  his  works, 
t  Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  76. 


196 

May  your  lordship's  authority  cause  the  one  to 
be  known  and  the  other  to  be  fulfilled,  etc. 
Your  lordship  may  be  assured  that  I  am  more 
desirous  of  writing  and  pleasing  the  Duke  than 
all  others  of  his  house.  From  Ferrara,  in 
Sant'  Anna." 

Confinement  in  a  lunatic  hospital,  in  a  cell 
like  TASSO'S,  occasioned  by  such  causes,  and 
surrounded  by  such  objects,  must  have  greatly 
increased  his  habitual  despondency.  We  ought 
not  to  wonder  if  it  really  drove  him  mad  ;  the 
marvel  rather  is,  that  he  should  have  continued 
sane.  Before,  however,  attributing  any  effect 
to  his  seclusion  or  pronouncing  on  its  character, 
as  everything  respecting  it  is  disputed,  even  the 
nature  of  his  detention  and  treatment,  a  few 
extracts  from  his  own  letters,  respecting  them, 
will  not  be  useless. 

His  affecting  description  of  "  the  indignities 
to  which  he  was  exposed,  the  squalor  of  his 
beard,  and  hair,  and  clothes,  and  the  sordid 
filth  and  misery  around  him,"  cannot  be  for- 
gotten.* 

*  Letter  to  Scipio  Gonzaga,  ante,  p.  69. 


197 


He  complains  to  BUONCOMPAGNO,  in  1581, 
of  the  harsh  treatment  he  suffers  from  Agostino 
Mosti,  the  prior  of  the  hospital.* 

It  appears  that  his  correspondence  was  en- 
tirely cut  off,  until  Giulio  Mosti,  the  nephew  of 
the  prior,  became  his  friend,  and  he  repeatedly 
entreats  "to  be  restored  to  the  commerce  of 
letters."  t 

Writing  to  GUALENGO,  29th  September,  1 582, 
he  prays  a  little  more  comfort,  and  promises  not 
to  forget  it  if  he  should  come  to  better  fortune.J 

In  1583,  he  wishes  to  converse  with  CATANEO 
in  private,  being  unwilling  to  confide  secrets  to 
letters.  In  the  same  year,  having  lost,  together 
with  his  salary,  all  the  profit  he  hoped  from 
printing  his  works,  he  is  entirely  at  the  mercy 
of  the  ministers,  although  he  often  has  occa- 
sion to  put  his  hand  in  his  purse  for  necessa- 
ries.§ 

In  1584,  he  begs  Father    GRILIUO   that   he 


*  Letter  to  Buoncompagno,  ante,  pp.  78,  79. 
t  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  165. 
t  Id.  169. 
5  Id.  294. 

17* 


198 


may  be  allowed  to  confess,  which  he  is  anxious 
to  do,  but  it  does  not  depend  on  him,  but  on 
M.  Agostino  Mosti,  the  prior  of  the  hospital, 
who  not  only  permits  him  to  be  annoyed  by  his 
neighbors  and  disturbed  in  his  studies,  but 
who  himself  treats  him  in  many  respects  in  an 
unbecoming  manner;  "  so  that  the  greatest  favor 
I  could  receive  from  your  fraternity,  would  be 
to  take  me  out  of  his  hands."* 

In  1585,  he  says,  "I  write  not  from  prison 
but  from  St.  Benedict,  where  Count  Giulio 
Pepoli  brought  me  in  his  carriage,  and  I  hope 
from  him  similar  favors  hereafter."t 

In  the  same  year  he  complains  of  being  re- 
imprisoned  after  temporary  indulgence.} 

In  1586,  he  says,  he  is  sick  and  in  prison, 
and  from  the  quarter  whence  he  hoped  liberty 
comes  first  confinement.^ 


*  Vol.  ix.,  ed.  di  Venezia,  p.  24. 

t  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  p.  87,  ed.  di  Pisa. 

t  Id.  61. 

5  Lettere,  torn,  ii.,  p.  72.  The  allusion  possibly  may  be  to 
Tuscany. 

To  these  may  be  added  Aldus's  testimony  to  his  "sense, 
hunger,  and  nakedness."  See  Serassi,  314,  n.  4. 


199 


Many  of  his  sonnets  describe  his  prison  and 
the  misery  he  suffers  there  ;  and  after  making 
all  due  allowance  for  poetic  exaggeration,  we 
cannot  recognise  in  them  either  the  commodious 
and  pleasant  apartments  of  MANSO,  or  the  hu- 
mane detention  of  BLACK.*  The  following  to 
SCIPIO  GONZAGA,  may  be  taken  as  a  specimen : 

"  Sure  PITY,  SCIPIO,  on  earth  has  fled 
From  Royal  breasts  to  seek  abode  in  heaven  ; 
For  if  she  were  not  banished,  scorned,  or  dead, 
Would  not  some  ear  to  my  complaints  be  given? 
Is  NOBLE  FAITH  at  pleasure  to  be  riven, 
Though  freely  pledged  that  I  had  naught  to  dread, 
And  I  by  endless  outrage  to  be  driven 
To  worse  than  DEATH  —  the  death-like  life  I've  led  ? 
For  this  is  of  the  quick  a  GRAVE  ;  and  here 
Am  I,  a  living,  breathing  corpse  interred, 
To  go  not  forth  'till  prisoned  in  my  bier ; 
O  earth !  O  heaven !  if  Love  and  Truth  are  heard, 
Or  Honor,  Fame,  and  Virtue  worth  a  tear, 
Let  not  my  prayers  be  fruitless  or  deferred  !"t 

*  Black,  vol.  ii.,  Appendix  xxviii.,  p.  452. 
t  Rime,  torn,  iii.,  s.  48,  p.  29,  ed.  di  Pisa. 

"AL    SIGNOR   SCIPIO   GONZAGA, 
SULLA    SUA    PRIGIONIA. 

Scipio,  o  pietade  e  morta,  od  e  bandita 
Da  regj  petti,  e  nel  celesto  regno 


200 

Various  other  descriptions  to  the  same  pur- 
port might  be  quoted,  but  the  reader  will  pro- 
bably be  better  contented  with  a  reference.* 

In  these,  as  well  as  in  his  prose  writings 
already  cited,  he  is  consistent  in  affirming  that 
"  FAITH  WAS  PLEDGED  TO  HIM,"  and  that  he 
returned  "confiding  in  the  promises  made  by 
Cardinal  ALBANO  and  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Duke."t 


Fra'  Divi  alberga,  e  prende  il  mondo  a  sdegno, 
O  fia  la  voce  del  mio  pianto  udita. 
Dunque  la  nobil  fe  sara  schernita, 
Ch'  e  di  mia  libertd.  si  nobil  pegno ; 
Ne  fine  avra  mai  questo  strazio  indegno, 
Che  m'  inforsa  cosi  tra  morte  e  vital 
duesta  e  tomba  de  vivi,  ov  io  son  chiuso 
Cadavero  spirante,  e  si  disserra 
Solo  il  career  de'  morti :  Oh,  Divi,  Oh,  Cielo. 
S'  opere  d'  arte  e  d'  ingegno,  amore,  zelo 
D'  onore,  han  premio  ovver  perdono  in  terra, 
Deh  !  non  sia,  prego,  il  mio  pregar  deluso." 

*  See  sonnet  to  the  Cardinal  Albano,  Rime,  torn,  iii.,  s.  77, 
p.  43;  to  Vincenzo  Gonzaga,  id.,  s.  83,  p.  46;  to  the  shade  of 
Duke  Hercules,  id.,  s.  85,  p.  47;  to  Duke  William  of  Mantua, 
id.,  159,  s.  108,  109,  p.  60,  s.  110,  111;  canzone  xxvi.,  Rime, 
torn,  iv.,  p.  94 ;  canzone  xiv.,  torn,  ii.,  p.  40,  and  various  other 
compositions. 

t  See  sonnet  to  Scipio  Gonzaga,  "  la  nobil  fe"  — "  chi  mi 
guido" — "chi  mi  deluse,"in  the  canzone  to  the  Princesses,  and 


201 


Until  the  summer  or  autumn  of  1581,  then, 
he  seems  to  have  struggled  with  his  miseries, 
buoyed  up  occasionally  with  the  hopes  of  free- 
dom, and,  however  melancholy,  still  rational. 
But  we  now  approach  a  period  when  he 
exhibited  numerous  and  serious  marks  of  a 
distemper  resembling  madness,  and,  indeed, 
only  distinguishable  from  it  by  the  greater 
exactness  of  modern  science. 

The  first  decided  symptoms  of  this  malady 
which  attracted  our  attention,  are  observable 
in  a  letter  to  CATANEO,  dated  the  18th  of  Octo- 
ber, 1581,  but  little  more  than  two  months  after 
that  to  the  Cardinal  Albano.* 

"  To  Signore  Maurizio  Cataneo  ;  Rome. 

"  Although  I  desire  more  earnestly  to  be 
thought  good  than  learned,  yet  it  would  dis- 
please me  to  be  reputed  ignorant.  And  if 
virtue  is  science,  and  without  knowledge  no 


"  la  data  fede,"  in  the  sonnet  to  Margherita  Gonzaga,  Duchess 
of  Ferrara,  Rime,  torn,  i.,  s.  426.     See  also,  lettere,  torn,  i.,  p. 
78,  169;  torn,  ii.,  175,197,  274;  torn,  iv.,  196;  Lettere  Ine- 
dite,  64. 
*  Ante,  p.  195. 


202 


perfect  action  can  be  performed,  I  ought  to 
value  the  reputation  of  learning  as  much  as 
that  of  goodness  itself.  If  it  shall  please 
God,  therefore,  to  grant  me  life,  I  will  strive 
to  efface  from  the  minds  of  men  the  belief 
that  to  my  misfortune,  and  through  the  malignity 
of  others,  has  been  spread  abroad.  But  as  it 
is  not  in  my  power  to  correct  it  entirely,  for  the 
present  I  will  only  give  you  an  account  of  the 
interruptions  I  meet  with  in  studying  and  com- 
posing. These  are  of  two  sorts,  human  and 
diabolical.  The  human  are  cries  of  men,  and 
especially  of  women  and  children  ;  laughter 
full  of  mockery ;  noises  of  various  animals, 
excited  by  men  to  annoy  me,  and  sounds  of 
inanimate  things  produced  by  mortal  agency. 
The  diabolical  are  enchantments  and  witch- 
craft. As  to  the  enchantments  I  am  not  so 
certain,  because  the  rats,  of  which  my  room  is 
full,  and  who  appear  to  me  possessed,  may  make 
the  noise  they  do  naturally  without  any  diabo- 
lical art,  and  the  origin  of  the  other  sounds  I 
hear  may  also  be  traced  to  human  means. 
Nevertheless,  it  appears  to  me  sufficiently  cer- 
tain that  I  am  bewitched,  and  the  spells  are 
very  powerful.  For  when  I  take  a  book  or  a 


203 

pen,  I  hear  voices  sounding  in  my  ears,  among 
which  I  distinguish  the  names  of  Paul,  James, 
Jerome,  Francis,  Fulvius,  and  others,  which 
perhaps  are  those  of  evil  spirits  envious  of  my 
quiet.  For  if  they  are  not  such,  they  would 
seek  by  courtesy  to  remove  the  evil  opinion  I 
have  conceived  of  them  from  their  acts. 
Although  I  often  write  before  eating,  I  am  more 
troubled  with  fumes  that  ascend  to  the  head 
than  I  have  ever  been  heretofore,  insomuch 
that  I  am  often  disturbed  by  phantasms.  Such 
being  my  condition,  it  is  no  wonder  that  in 
writing  to  your  Cardinal  I  improperly  used  the 
term  '  instruments  of  the  understanding,'  but 
rather  that  I  have  not  committed  many  other 
errors.  And  when  it  happens,  as  it  very  often 
does,  that  external  interruptions  concur  with 
these  internal  ones,  they  enrage  me  to  such  a 
degree  that  very  often  I  do  not  finish  my  letters, 
but  tear  them  to  pieces  and  begin  them  again, 
as  I  have  done  with  this,  of  which  I  have  torn 
and  re-written  many  copies.  Others  I  have 
penned  very  hastily,  and  sent  from  my  hands 
immediately  without  correction,  in  which,  if  I 
have  committed  mistakes,  they  ought  to  be 
imputed  by  the  courteous  reader  more  to  trouble 


204 


than  ignorance.  For  in  thinking  over  what  I 
have  written,  my  blunders  occur  to  me  very 
readily,  but  after  they  can  no  longer  be  cor- 
rected, and  this  frets  me  exceedingly.  In  this 
perturbation  of  spirit,  not  only  my  letters,  but 
my  other  productions  have  been  composed,  so 
that  I  do  not  merely  hesitate  to  pronounce  them 
good,  but  will  never  acknowledge  them  for  mine 
until  I  have  time  to  revise  them.  Because,  not 
such  as  spring  from  a  disturbed,  but  those  that 
are  the  fruit  of  a  quiet  mind,  are  properly  to  be 
accounted  mine.  Besides  this,  some  others 
have  been  badly  written  for  many  reasons, 
which,  if  I  live,  I  will  recompose  and  enlarge. 

"  Such  was  one  sent  two  years  ago  to  the 
EMPEROR,  and  others  to  the  most  serene 
Duchess  of  MANTUA,  and  to  the  most  illustrious 
SCIPIO  GONZAGA,  to  which,  not  having  been 
able  to  give  the  form  of  an  oration,  I  intended 
this  last  year  to  extend  into  many  orations, 
containing  the  several  proofs  of  the  numerous 
calamities  I  have  suffered,  and  the  wrongs  I 
have  endured,  as  well  as  the  nature  of  my 
faults,  which  do  not  deserve  the  punishment 
my  enemies  think  them  worthy  of,  and  perhaps 
are  lighter  than  their  own.  But,  deterred  by  the 


205 


fatigue,  and  the  obstacles  I  have  met  with,  I 
have  given  over  writing  them,  or  rather  post- 
poned it  to  a  better  opportunity,  and  now  the 
division  I  had  made  of  the  subject  has  escaped 
my  mind,  for  my  memory  has  been  much  im- 
paired by  this  illness.  I  should  like  to  remember 
them,  if  I  do  not  reconsider  many,  and  divide 
them  differently.  But  if  your  illustrious  lord, 
who  has  always  most  prudently  advised  me, 
thinks  I  would  do  better  to  forget  the  injuries  I 
have  done  to  others,  and  they  to  me,  than  by 
writing  to  revive  them  in  my  memory  and 
theirs,  I  will  freely  consent  that  the  past  may 
rest  in  silence. 

"  I  pray,  nevertheless,  that  my  reputation 
and  quiet  may  be  recommended  to  his  lordship, 
and  expect  his  counsel,  without  which  I  am 
unwilling  to  do  anything.  And  that  in  giving 
it  to  me  he  may  be  sure  of  what  I  can  promise 
for  myself,  know,  that  when  I  am  not  disturbed 
by  such  noises  as  those,  that  even  at  this 
moment  have  not  ceased,  and  which  are  enough 
to  drive  even  wise  men  mad,  and  when  I  have 
taken  proper  remedies,  and  am  nourished  by 
proper  food,  such  as  does  not  increase  my 
melancholy,  I  do  not  despair  of  being  fit  to  fill 

VOL.  II.  18 


206 


the  office  of  a  secretary.  And  sure  I  am  it  would 
rarely  be  necessary  for  me  to  transcribe  my 
letters,  and  never  more  than  once.  Still  it  is  a 
place  I  do  not  wish  for.  And  if  I  could  get 
the  two  thousand  five  hundred  crowns  justly 
due  me  in  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  and  a 
thousand  or  more  which  it  seems  to  me  Sig- 
nore*  ....  is  my  debtor,  if  I  should 
receive  but  half  of  what  has  been  made  by  the 
publications  of  my  poem,  I  would  think  only  of 
attending  to  my  studies,  not  so  much  from  the 
hope  of  fame,  as  the  wish  for  peace,  which  may 
it  please  heaven  to  grant  me  on  any  terms. 
And  I  kiss  your  hands.  From  Ferrara."t 

What  renders  this  description  of  his  situation 
still  more  curious  is,  that  on  the  seventh  and 
eleventh  of  the  same  month  he  wrote  two  long 
letters  to  Brother  Mark,  a  Capuchin  friar,  who 
pretended  that  heaven  had  revealed  to  him  all 
TASSO'S  thoughts.  The  poet,  waiving  a  dis- 
cussion on  miracles,  on  which  it  is  impossible 
to  reason,  argues  sensibly,  and  even  acutely, 


*  Probably  Febo  Bonnk. 
t  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  156. 


207 

but  in  courteous  and  friendly  terms,  on  the 
natural  impossibility  of  what  the  friar  tells  him. 
These  letters  axe  excluded  with  regret,  on 
account  of  their  length,  but  the  learned  reader 
will  not  fail  to  consult  them.* 

In  December,  1581,  writing  to  ALDUS  the 
younger,  who  contemplated  printing  an  edition 
of  his  poems,  he  says  : 

"  I  will  send  you  the  rhymes,  but  it  will  take 
two  months  to  arrange  and  get  them  ready,  and 
my  labor  will  be  all  in  vain  if  I  do  not  first  take 
medicine,  and  attend  to  my  health  very  care- 
fully, for  which  purpose  I  want  the  advice  of 
Signore  MERCURIALE."! 

Such  of  his  letters  as  we  have  in  1582, 
exhibit  no  further  symptoms  of  a  disordered 
fancy.  He  merely  says,  in  the  course  of  a  long 
and  sensible  one  to  GONZAGA  : 

"  For  I  am  tired,  and  almost  sick  of  the 
world,  and  desirous  of  nothing  so  much  as 


*  See  Lettere,  torn,  ii.,  133,  137. 

t  A  celebrated  physician  of  Padua.    Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  139. 


208 


quiet,  not  destitute  of  reputation  ;  which,  how- 
ever, I  do  not  mean  to  seek  with  much  care  or 
study,  but  would  not  lose  more  of  than  I  have 
done  already  by  my  folly,  for  the  loss  is  irreme- 
diable, and  causes  me  infinite  grief."* 

In  1583  he  consulted  the  celebrated  JEROM 
MERCURIALE,  professor  of  medicine  in  the 
University  of  PADUA  : 

"  I  have  been  sick  now  some  years,  and  the  na- 
ture of  my  disease  is  unknown  even  to  myself; 
yet  it  is  my  firm  belief  I  have  been  bewitched. 
But  whatever  may  be  the  cause  of  the  malady, 
these  are  the  effects.  Pain  in  the  intestines, 
with  slight  dysentery ;  buzzing  in  the  ears  and 
head,  so  strong  that  I  sometimes  seem  to  have 
a  clock  in  it ;  continual  fancies  of  different 
kinds,  but  all  disagreeable,  which  often  disturb 
me  to  such  a  degree  that  I  cannot  apply  myself 
for  five  minutes  at  a  time ;  and  the  more  I  strive 
to  force  my  attention,  the  more  I  am  distracted 
by  various  imaginations,  and  sometimes  by  the 


*  Lettere,  torn.  IT.,  p.  304,  ed.  di  Pisa.     Letter  to  Scipio 
Gonzaga,  dated  26th  October,  1582. 


209 


violent  passions  they  excite,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  phantasies  that  occur.     Besides 
this,  after  meals  I  am   troubled  with  fumes  in 
the  head,  which  is  greatly  heated,  and  in  all 
the  sounds  I  hear  I  fancy  human  voices,  so  that 
things  inanimate  often  seem  to  speak  to  me. 
At  night  I  am  disturbed  by  dreams,  and  so 
carried  away  by  imagination  that  I  appear  to 
have  heard  (if  indeed  I  have  not  really  heard) 
some  things  respecting  which  I  have  conferred 
with   Father   Mark,  a   Capuchin,   the   bearer 
hereof,  and  other  fathers  and  laics  with  whom  I 
have  conversed  about  my  disease,  which  being 
in  this  respect  not  only  violent,  but  afflicting 
above  all  others,  has  need  of  some  powerful 
remedy.     And  though  no  cure  can  be  expected 
without  the  help  of  GOD,  who  never  abandons 
those  that  firmly  believe  in  him,  yet  as  divine 
grace  permits  the  use  of  human  means  to  human 
infirmities,  I  recur  to  you  for  help  and  counsel, 
and  pray  you,  if  you  cannot  send  the  remedies, 
at  least  to  write  your  advice,  which  I  always 
held  in  great  esteem,  and  would  now  prefer  to 
that  of  most  others.     The  greater  my  need  and 
misery,  the  greater  will   be  my  obligation,  if, 
through   your  assistance,  I  shall  recover  my 
18* 


210 


health.  And  though  at  present  not  only  in 
that  respect,  but  in  all  others,  1  am  in  the  worst 
condition,  nevertheless,  by  the  mercy  of  our 
Lord,  there  remains  to  me  so  much  of  my 
wonted  intellect  that  I  am  not  unable  to  com- 
pose ;  and  in  that  way  you  may  expect  from 
me  every  sort  of  gratitude.  If  you  do,  or  ought 
to  wish  for  any  reward  from  me,  it  is  this, 
which  will  never  be  sought  in  vain,  but  on  the 
contrary  often  paid  without  being  asked.  I 
should  like  also  to  know  Signore  Melchior 
Guilandino's  opinion,  and  pray  you  to  remem- 
ber me  most  warmly  to  Signore  John  Vincent 
Pinello,  who  has  been  many  years,  and  still  is, 
near  my  heart.  From  Ferrara,  the  vigil  of  St. 
Peter,  1583."* 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  CATANEO  in  this  year, 
there  is  a  remarkable  passage.  He  says  he  is 
aware  that  it  was  through  his  own  imprudence 
he  fell  into  the  calamity  from  which  he  has  not 
yet  entirely  escaped,  although  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  have  shown  such  courtesy  to  him, 


Lettere,  torn,  v.,  p.  260,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


211 


both  in  words  and  actions,  as  to  give  him  hopes 
of  entirely  recovering  their  favor.* 

On  the  first  of  October  in  the  same  year  he 
writes  to  Biagio  Bernardi  as  follows  : 

"  On  your  return  I  will  answer  the  sonnet  of 
Signore  Humajo,  as  I  am  bound  to  do  by  his 
courtesy.  Nor  is  it  singular  that  I  take  time  to 
reply,  because  PHOEBUS  is  niggardly  to  me, 
having  found  the  art  of  printing  and  selling  my 
works,  which  I  hoped  to  do  myself,  he  spends 
his  time  gaily  in  Paris  among  ladies  and  cava- 
liers, without  giving  me  any  of  the  money  he 
receives  for  them,  as  he  had  promised  to  do 
under  his  hand.t  But  if  Signore  Humajo 


*  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  p.  180,  ed.  di  Pisa. 

t  Doubtless  a  play  was  intended  upon  the  name  of  PHOEBUS 
BONNA,  and  upon  the  word  art,  used  either  in  the  letter  of  his 
correspondent  Bernardi,  or  the  sonnet  of  Humajo. 

This  FEBO  BONNA  contrived  to  get  the  privilege  of  printing 
the  Jerusalem  from  the  Pope,  the  King  of  France,  the  Doge  of 
Venice,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  the  Governor  of  Milan. 
The  original  edition  of  1581  is  before  me,  with  the  copy  of 
each  at  full  length.  Bonna  was  a  Ferrarcse,  and  the  use  he 
made  of  these  privileges  is  obvious  enough  from  TASSD'S 
words.  The  poet  frequently  complains  in  his  correspondence 
of  the  injustice  done  him  by  printing  his  works  without  giving 
him  any  part  of  the  profit. 


212 


means  a  different  Phoebus  and  different  art,  I 
will  gladly  hear  his  opinion  thereon,  because 
those  who  will  have  poetry  to  be  a  divine  fury, 
inspired  by  APOLLO  and  the  MUSES,  do  not  allow 
it  to  be  an  art,  as  you  may  perceive,  in  the 


The  want  of  concert  on  this  subject  among  the  different 
governments  of  Italy  continues  to  this  day  to  be  a  serious  dis- 
couragement to  letters,  and  a  crying  injustice  to  authors.  If  a 
work  is  bad,  it  falls  of  course.  If  good,  editions  are  multiplied 
in  the  adjoining  states,  from  which  the  publishers  alone  derive 
all  the  benefit.  Such  at  least  is  the  general  rule.  There  are 
occasional  honorable  exceptions  of  conscientious  booksellers, 
who  think  themselves  bound  to  make  some  recompense,  but 
this  of  course  must  be  trifling.  An  author  in  Italy,  therefore, 
can  scarcely  ever  expect  profit. 

With  what  justice,  then,  are  the  Italians  reproached  for  their 
neglect  of  literature  1  When  this,  and  all  the  other  obstacles 
they  must  encounter,  are  considered,  the  wonder  is  that  anyone 
writes  at  all.  Nor  is  this  evil  confined  to  Italy.  French  works 
are  printed  surreptitiously  in  Belgium,  English  in  France, 
American  in  England,  and  English  in  America.  How  long 
shall  literary  piracy  be  the  only  one  tolerated  by  civilized 
nations'?  Why  do  not  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States  set 
the  example  of  a  compact  to  secure  the  rights  of  intellectual 
property  1  One  of  the  most  glorious  and  useful  triumphs  of 
civilization  would  be  the  establishment  of  free  trade — an 
uniformity  of  weights,  measures,  and  money,  and  the  universal 
security  of  copy-right  and  invention  throughout  Christendom- 
A  congress  for  this  purpose  would  redeem  the  name  from 
odium,  and  such  an  alliance  would  be  indeed  HOLY. 


213 

IONE  of  PLATO.  Be  that  as  it  may,  of  two 
things  I  assure  you.  One  is,  that  I  am  not  of 
those  poets  who  do  not  understand  what  they 
themselves  write  ;  the  other,  that  my  produc- 
tions cost  me  much  labor,  which  those  are  not 
wont  to  undergo  who  compose  in  poetic  ecsta- 
cies ;  and  it  is  so  much  the  greater  as  it  is  in 
part  new  to  me,  for  before  my  memory  was 
weakened  I  rarely  put  pen  to  paper,  but  could 
retain  and  repeat  three  or  four  hundred  stanzas 
at  once,  and  now  I  can  hardly  remember  a 
sonnet;  and  if  it  has  not  been  recently  made, 
forget  it  entirely,  so  that  from  this  cause,  and 
the  number  of  my  griefs,  I  no  longer  take  the 
same  pleasure  in  my  studies  that  I  used  to  do. 
"You  will  therefore  excuse  me,  if  I  send  you 
nothing  new  except  perhaps  a  sonnet,  that  it 
will  not  be  tedious  to  copy.  And  if  you  think 
that  Signore  Mercuriale's  skill  may  restore 
me  the  memory  I  have  lost,  or  even  preserve 
to  me  the  little  that  remains,  I  shall  be  greatly 
obliged  both  to  you  and  him.  I  have  received 
his  advice  in  writing,  and  am  willing  to  let  blood 
and  submit  to  a  cautery  in  the  arm,  as  he  ad- 
vises. But  the  one  in  the  leg  and  the  absti- 
nence from  wine,  which  he  recommends,  are 


214 

too  disagreeable — I  mean  to  abstain  entirely, 
and  drink  nothing  else  but  broth ;  because  I 
would  willingly  obey  him  in  using  wine  moder- 
ately and  temperately.  I  pray  you,  therefore, 
if  you  return  here,  to  help  Count  Camillo  to 
cure  me,  or  at  least  preserve  my  life,  before 
you  go  to  Padua.  And  if  you  will  give  me 
the  receipt  for  the  conserve  that  Signore  MER- 
CURIALE  wishes  me  to  take,  it  will  be  greatly 
welcome  ;  and  the  more  so  the  pleasanter  it  is, 
because  you  know,  the  excellence  of  a  physi- 
cian consists  in  giving  not  merely  salutary  but 
agreeable  prescriptions.  Remind  Signer  MER- 
CURIALE,  therefore,  that  I  am  infirm  ;  for  though 
I  eat  with  a  good  appetite,  in  other  respects  I 
am  much  troubled.  In  the  mean  time,  accept 
my  respects  and  wishes  for  your  health.  From 
Ferrara,  1st  October,  1583." 

An  extract  from  a  letter  of  his  to  the  Cava- 
lier ENEAS  TASSO,  in  1585,  shows  the  increase 
of  his  belief  in  supernatural  agency  as  the 
source  of  his  torments. 

•    "  Things  become  even 

worse ;  because  the  devil,  with  whom  I  walk 


215 

and  sleep,  not  being  able  to  master  me  as  he 
wishes,  has  become  a  manifest  thief  of  my 
money,  taking  it  from  me  while  I  am  asleep,  and 
opening  my  boxes  so  that  I  cannot  keep  it  safe. 
Heretofore  he  has  robbed  me  discreetly,  but 
not  being  able  to  trust  his  continuing  to  do  so,  I 

send  you  the  rest 

I  pray  you  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  it,  and 
to  exert  yourself  that  I  may  escape  from  the 
hands  of  the  devil  with  my  books  and  papers, 
of  which  I  can  no  more  be  secure  than  of  my 
money.  And  if  the  thing  were  not  so  certain, 
and  so  strange,  and  extraordinary,  as  to  move 
pity  of  itself,  I  would  add  my  entreaties  on 
account  of  the  intimacy  between  our  fathers, 
etc.  Sant'  Anna,  10th  November,  1585."* 

Writing  to  Cataneo  the  year  following,  he 
says : 

"You  must  know  I  have  been  bewitched  and 
have  never  been  cured,  and  perhaps  I  have 
more  need  of  an  exorcist  than  a  physician, 
because  the  disease  comes  from  magic,"  etc. 

*  Lettere,  torn,  ii.,  p.  90,  ed.  di  Pisa. 


216 


"  Of  the  foletto  [or 

spirit,]*  I  must  write  you  something  more. 
The  little  rogue  has  stolen  many  crowns  from 
me  ;  I  don't  know  how  many,  not  keeping  ac- 
count of  them  like  misers,  but  perhaps  they 
may  amount  to  twenty.  He  turns  my  books 
upside  down,  opens  my  chests,  and  steals  my 
keys,  so  that  I  can  keep  nothing.  I  am  miser- 
able at  all  times,  but  especially  during  the 
night,  and  I  know  not  whether  my  disease  be 
phrenzy  or  what  is  its  nature,  nor  can  I  find 
any  other  remedy  than  eating  heartily  and 
indulging  my  appetite,  that  I  may  sleep  soundly. 
As  to  food  indeed,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  can 
eat  abundantly,  for  the  magician's  object  seems 
not  to  have  been  to  prevent  my  digestion,  but 
my  contemplations.  Often,  however,  I  fast,  not 
from  devotion,  but  fulness  of  stomach,  and  at 
such  times  I  cannot  sleep.  Look  upon  me  with 
compassion,  and  know  that  I  am  miserable  be- 
cause the  world  is  unjust."t 


*  The  foletto  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  Sprite,  Puck,  or  Robin 
Goodfellow. 

t  Lettere,  torn,  ii.,  p.  174;  Black,  vol.  ii.,  175;  the  date  is 
Christmas  day,  [1586,]  according  to  Black. 


217 


The  longest  and  most  circumstantial  account 
of  the  spirit  is  in  the  following  letter  to  Cataneo : 

"  To-day,  which  is  the  last  but  one  of  the 
year,  the  Reverend  Father  Licino's  brother 
brought  me  your  two  letters,  but  one  of  them 
disappeared  after  I  read  it,  and  I  believe  the 
foletto  must  have  carried  it  off,  because  it  is 
the  one  that  speaks  of  him.  This  is  one  of  the 
wonders  I  have  often  seen  in  this  hospital. 
Hence  I  am  certain  they  are  the  work  of  a  ma- 
gician, and  I  have  many  proofs  of  it,  but  espe- 
cially of  a  loaf  taken  visibly  from  before  my 
eyes  half  an  hour  before  sunset,  arid  a  plate  of 
fruit,  which  vanished  the  day  that  the  Polish 
youth  who  is  so  deservedly  admired,  visited  me. 
The  same  thing  has  happened  with  other  pro- 
visions, at  a  time,  too,  when  nobody  entered 
my  prison,  and  with  gloves,  letters,  and  books, 
taken  from  locked  chests  and  found  in  the 
morning  on  the  floor.  Others  I  have  never 
found,  nor  do  I  know  what  has  become  of  them; 
but  such  as  have  disappeared  when  I  am 
absent  may  have  been  taken  by  men,  who  I 
verily  believe  have  the  keys  of  all  my  trunks. 
Thus,  you  see,  I  can  defend  nothing  against 

VOL.  n.  19 


218 


my  enemies  or  the  devil,  except  my  will, 
with  which  I  will  never  consent  to  learn 
anything  from  himself  or  his  magicians. 
FiciNo  says,  they  may  move  the  imagination, 
but  without  the  intellect  have  no  authority  or 
force,  because  that  depends  immediately  upon 
GOD.  The  same  thing  may  be  gathered  from 
many  philosophers,  both  Platonists  and  Peripa- 
tetics. Alexander  Aphrodisiensis  especially, 
will  not  allow  that  the  imagination  is  mistress 
of  man's  judgment,  but  that  he  is  free  to  listen 
or  not  listen  to  it,  having  command  over  his 
fancy.  But  perhaps,  some  may  think  I  con- 
tradict myself,  because  in  my  dialogue  of  the 
MESSENGER,  I  feigned  to  converse  with  a  spirit, 
which  I  never  would  have  done,  even  if  I 
could  have  had  the  power.  But  you  must 
know,  that  dialogue  was  composed  by  me 
several  years  ago,  at  the  command  of  a  prince 
who,  perhaps,  had  no  evil  intention,  nor  did  I 
esteem  it  wrong  or  dangerous  to  treat  the  sub- 
ject thus  poetically.  But  since  then,  my  ene- 
mies making  a  mockery  of  me,  have  brought 
me  to  the  extremity  of  wretchedness,  render- 
ing that  in  part  true  which  I  had  but  fancied. 
At  the  period  referred  to,  I  was  not  subject  to 


219 


any  misery  of  this  sort,  as  may  be  learned  from 
a  strict  examination  of  the  gentlemen  in  whose 
houses  I  lodged.  My  proofs,  however,  must 
be  drawn  more  from  reasoning  than  testimony, 
though  evidence  would  not  be  wanting  were 
not  the  truth  oppressed  by  my  enemies,  who  are 
many,  powerful,  and  implacable,  and  whom  I 
seek  not  to  appease,  except  by  means  becom- 
ing a  Christian.  For,  God  knows,  I  was  never 
either  magician  or  Lutheran,  and  I  never  read 
heretical  books,  nor  works  on  necromancy,  or 
any  prohibited  art.  Nor  did  I  ever  delight  in 
the  conversation  of  Huguenots,  nor  praise  their 
doctrines,  bui  often  blamed  them  by  words  and 
writings.  Nor  did  I  hold  opinions  against  the 
holy  catholic  church,  though  I  will  not  deny 
having  sometimes  lent  too  ready  an  ear  to  the 
reasoning  of  philosophers,  but  never  in  such  wise 
as  not  to  humble  my  intellect  before  theolo- 
gians and  to  be  more  ready  to  learn  than  to 
contradict.  But  now  my  wretchedness  has 
confirmed  my  faith,  and  amid  all  my  misfor- 
tunes I  have  the  consolation  to  be  free  from 
doubts,  though  I  have  many  wishes.  And  if 
the  fear  of  death  has  ever  forced  me  to  wrong 
myself  or  truth,  such  terror  has  now  no  influ- 


220 

ence,  for  I  love  not  life,  except  attended  with 
such  things  as  might  be  granted  by  a  gracious 
prince,  who  would  be  willing  to  annul  the  me- 
mory of  falsehood  and  let  truth  remain,  not 
for  the  purpose  of  blaming  others,  but  for  his 
satisfaction  and  my  own.  In  the  meantime,  I 
am  unhappy,  nor  will  I  conceal  my  misery  in 
order  that  you  may  remedy  it  with  all  your 
power,  and  all  your  industry,  and  all  your  faith. 
Know  then  that  beside  the  wonders  of  thefoletto, 
which  I  reserve  for  future  correspondence,  I 
have  many  nocturnal  frights.  For  even  when 
awake,  I  seem  to  behold  small  flames  in  the 
air,  and  buuieiiuies  uiy  eyes  Cas>li  fiie  iu  such  a 
way  that  I  dread  the  loss  of  sight,  and  I  have 
actually  seen  sparks  of  fire  issue  from  them.  I  have 
also  seen  in  the  middle  of  the  bed-tester  shadows 
of  rats,  which  it  was  naturally  impossible  should 
be  there.  I  have  heard  dreadful  noises,  and 
there  is  often  hissing,  tingling,  ticking  like  a 
clock,  and  ringing  of  bells  in  my  ears.  Often 
the  hour  is  struck,  and  sometimes  in  my  sleep 
it  seems  as  if  a  horse  fell  upon  me,  and  I  after- 
wards found  myself  languid  and  fatigued.  I 
have  been  afraid  of  epilepsy,  apoplexy,  and 
blindness.  I  am  subject  to  headaches,  but  not 


221 


excessive,  and  to  pains  in  the  intestines,  the 
side,  the  legs  and  thighs,  but  not  very  violent, 
and  have  been  weakened  by  vomiting,  dysen- 
tery, and  fever. 

"  In  the  midst  of  these  fears  and  sufferings, 
there  appeared  to  me  the  image  of  the  glori- 
ous Virgin  in  the  air,  with  her  son  in  her  arms, 
surrounded  by  a  halo  of  various  colors,  so  that 
I  ought  not  to  despair  of  her  grace.  And 
though  this  might  easily  be  a  phantasy,  because 
I  am  frenetic  and  disturbed  by  various  phan- 
tasms, and  infinitely  melancholy,  nevertheless, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  I  can  sometimes  withhold 
my  assent,  [cohibere  assensum^  which,  as  CICERO 
remarks,  is  the  operation  of  a  sound  mind  ; 
and  therefore  I  incline  to  believe  it  a  miracle 
of  the  Virgin.  But,  if  I  arn  not  deceived, 
my  frenzy  is  owing  to  some  confections  I  ate 
three  years  ago,  since  from  that  period  I  date 
this  new  disease,  which  succeeded  to  the  first, 
arising  from  a  similar  cause,  but  neither  so  long 
nor  so  difficult  to  cure,  for  this,  if  it  be  not 
incurable,  very  much  resembles  such  as  are 
never  cured.  Since  then,  the  spells  have  been 
again  renewed,  yet  no  provision  has  been  made 
for  curing  me  any  more  than  at  first. 
19* 


222 


"  Though  I  have  a  good  appetite  I  am  rather 
choice  in  food  and  wish  it  to  be  delicate  ;  my 
digestion  does  not  seem  impaired,  and  I  often 
sleep  long  and  quietly,  yet  I  do  not  think  my 
life  safe,  and  the  evil  is  so  wonderful  that  it 
might  deceive  the  most  skilful  physicians,  and 
therefore  I  esteem  it  the  work  of  magic.  It 
would  be  a  mercy,  therefore,  to  release  me  from 
this  place,  where  the  enchanters  are  allowed  to 
do  what  they  please  with  me  without  fear  of  pun- 
ishment, either  because  they  are  favored  by 
persons  in  power,  or  because  my  lord  Duke 
will  not  believe  a  word  I  say,  although  I  never 
told  his  highness  a  falsehood,  or  spoke  with 
intent  to  deceive  him,  or  with  any  other  unbe- 
coming a  gentleman.  And  if  I  could  not  de- 
part with  some  proof  of  his  bounty,  which  is 
most  needed  by  me,  I  would  still  go  at  all 
events.  Remember  Signor  MAURTZIO,  that  I 
have  lived  forty  years  and  more,  twenty  of 
which  have  been  spent  in  the  service  of  the 

house  of  ESTE  and  in  prison * 

It  is  time,  therefore,  to  put  an  end  to  these 
hopes  either  with  despair  or  with  mercy,  which 

*  Blank  in  the  printed  copies. 


223 


latter  would  more  befit  their  greatness,  and  my 
character,  and  that  of  my  faults,  of  which  part 
are  to  be  imputed  to  fortune,  another  part  to 
nature,  and  part  to  the  arts  and  violence  of  my 
enemies,  so  that  my  own  portion  is  the  smallest 
and  slightest  of  all.  And  if  the  faults  commit- 
ted by  youth  are  to  be  excused,  mine  are  most 
excusable  ;  if  those  followed  by  immediate  re- 
pentance merit  pardon,  mine  have  deserved  it 
many  years.  They  ought  not,  therefore,  to  be 
remembered  anew  after  my  penitence,  their 
promises,  and  your  intercession,  or  if  they  are, 
they  should  be  classed,  not  among  the  deliber- 
ate but  the  unintended  —  not  among  the  wilful 
but  the  involuntary,  so  that  I  might  expect  not 
merely  pardon  but  favor.  And  if  my  illustri- 
ous lord*  could  have  procured  me  the  favor  of 
speaking  to  the  Duke,  I  would  have  prayed 
him  to  grant  me  life,  restore  me  health,  set  me 
at  liberty,  and  repair  by  his  generosity  the 
injuries  I  have  suffered  during  many  years'  im- 
prisonment, and  to  console  me  by  his  kindness 
for  the  wrongs  that  have  been  done  me.  What 
more  worthy  favor  could  your  Lord  Cardinal 

*  Cardinal  ALBANO. 


224 


do,  what  more  easy,  more  sought  for,  or  more 
promised  f 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  not  again  seen 
the  gentleman  to  whom  I  gave  the  letter  for 
him,  nor  whether  he  received  it  or  answered  it. 
You  who  are  his  secretary  can  help  me  to  good 
ink,  as  the  saying  is,  and  I  pray  you  without  re- 
serve to  do  so,  for  ceremony  may  be  laid  aside 
where  there  is  friendship  and  confidence.  From 
an  audience  I  should  expect  my  liberty,  and  can 
then  determine  more  fully  upon  the  publication 
of  my  works  and  the  dedication.  In  printing 
them,  I  will  remember  your  suggestion,  but  my 
own  wishes  must  be  executed,  for  my  malady 
has  not  so  impaired  my  senses  that  I  am  unable 
to  form  sound  resolutions. 

"  I  have  received  the  dedication  and  canzone 
you  sent  me,  and  expect  that  when  the  Reverend 
Father  Licino  returns,  the  city  of  Bergamo  will 
do  me  the  good  offices  I  have  prayed  for  with 
his  highness,  or  those  which  others  should  pray 
for  me,  because  my  infirmity  has  been  so  long, 
my  imprisonment  so  tedious,  rny  life  is  so 
advanced,  and  my  labors  have  proved  so  fruitless, 
that  they  might  move  not  only  Bergamo,  but 
all  Italy  to  pity.  Kiss  the  hands  of  the  illus- 


trious  patriarch  Gonzaga  for  me,  and  those  of 
the  excellent  Signore  Don  Odoardo,  and  give 
the  sonnet  to  Cavalier  Guarnello,  if  I  send  it  to 
you,  for  I  have  not  yet  written  it,  but  will  strive 
to  do  so  to-night  or  to-morrow,  and  if  I  can't  I 
won't  detain  this  letter,  but  send  it  by  another 
post,  and  you  will  then  make  my  apology  to 
him,  and  excuse  me,  if  I  am  not  sufficiently 
excused  by  phrenzy,  impediments  and  occu- 
pations, and  in  part  by  studies  which  I  can 
neither  continue  nor  entirely  abandon.  Live 
happy."* 

The  fragment  of  a  letter  addressed  to  Gon- 
zaga, without  date,  but  written  during  his 
imprisonment,  also  deserves  to  be  quoted. 

"  I  am  sick,  and  my  illness  is  not  a  matter  of 
jest,  nor  without  peril,  and  therefore  I  have  need 
of  a  physician  and  a  confessor,  and  perhaps  of 
some  one  who  will  exorcise  spirits,  and  chase 


*  This  letter  is  without  date,  but  the  "  forty  years  and  more," 
and  the  twenty  in  the  service  of  the  house  of  Este,  and  in  prison, 
fix  it  after  1584.  Black  and  Serassi  assign  it  to  1586.  See 
Lcttere,  torn,  ii.,  158,  163,  ed.  Pisa.  Black's  Life,  vol.  ii., 
p.  169. 


226 

away  phantasms.  Among  the  sorest  infirmities 
of  the  mind  is  ambition,  which  attacked  it 
many  years  ago,  and  has  never  been  fully 
cured,  so  that  I  could  not  really  despise  the 
honors  of  this  world,  and  those  who  bestow 
them."* 

In  1587,  after  his  liberation  from  Sant'  Anna, 
or  more  properly  speaking  after  he  had  been 
given  in  ward  to  the  Duke  of  MANTUA,  upon 
the  guarantee  that  he  was  not  to  leave  his 
dominions, t  and  probably  on  the  assurance  also 
that  he  was  not  to  write  or  speak  disrespectfully 
of  ALPHONSO,  he  thus  addresses  his  friend 
SCIPIO  GONZAGA. 

"  I  am  in  feeble  health  and  utterly  melancholy, 
so  that  I  am  reputed  mad  by  others  and  my- 
self, when,  being  unable  to  conceal  the  many 
powerful  thoughts,  cares  and  inquietudes  of  an 
infirm  and  distempered  mind,  I  break  out  into 
long  soliloquies,  which,  if  they  are  overheard, 


*  Lettere,  torn,  ii.,  98,  99. 

t  See  ante,  56,  and  also  Serassi,  Vita,  369. 


227 


as  they  often  may  be,  make  known  to  others 
my  designs,  and  what  I  hope  and  wish. 

"  Philosophy  is  the  physic  of  the  mind,  and 
therewith  I  often  minister  to  myself,  and  then 
begin  to  laugh  at  my  misfortunes,  and  all  the 
injuries  I  have  suffered.  What  more  .?  I  laugh 
even  at  the  bad  opinion  men  have  taken  up . 
against  me,  and  at  my  own  foolishness  which 
confirmed  it.  But  this  laughter  is  well  nigh  to 
fury,  and  I  have  need  of  hellebore,  or  some 
such  other  medicament,  to  relieve  the  body, 
full  of  ill-humors,  and  to  correct  the  stomach, 
whence  certain  vapors  ascend  to  the  head,  that 
disturb  it  in  thought  and  speech."* 

In  1588  he  consulted  Pisani,  a  distinguished 
physician,  and  a  short  extract  from  his  letter 
will  suffice  to  give  an  idea  of  the  state  of  his 
disorder : 

.  .  .  "  I  will  not  venture  to  express  my 
own  opinion,  therefore,  respecting  my  long 
malady.  It  is  almost  useless  to  say,  that  there 

*  The  date  is  the  1st  October,  1587.  Lettere,  torn,  iv., 
p.  98. 


228 


being  two  species  of  melancholy,  the  one  con- 
stitutional, the  other  occasioned  by  improper 
food,  I  am  affected  by  the  latter  to  such  a 
degree  that  not  only  the  brain  is  disturbed,  but 
the  whole  mass  of  the  blood  corrupted  ;  and 
by  a  third  species  which  begins  in  the  stomach, 
with  certain  intestine  commotions,  and  exhala- 
tion of  vapors,  that  cruelly  obscure  the  intellect. 
Nor  will  I  add  that  my  miserable  despondency 
is  increased  by  witchcraft  and  enchantment, 
that  I  may  not  appear  to  resemble  other 
madmen."* 

*  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  283. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

ENOUGH,  perhaps  more  than  enough  of  these 
quotations,  multiplied  with  the  view  of  fairly 
presenting,  in  their  full  force,  those  singular 
illusions  of  the  senses,  sometimes  confounded 
with  madness  by  TASSO  himself,  as  they  have 
often  been  by  others,  both  before  and  since.  In 
order  to  rebut  the  presumption  they  tend  to 
create,  by  his  own  testimony,  it  would  be 
requisite  to  cite  nearly  all  else  that  he  wrote  or 
did  for  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  his  life.  This 
is  manifestly  impossible.  It  must  not  be  for- 
gotten, however,  that  during  this  period,  besides 
maintaining  an  extensive  correspondence,  he 
entirely  remodelled  his  Jerusalem,  composed 
his  poem  on  the  creation,  and  wrote  or  corrected 
a  great  many  other  works.* 

*  Without  pretending  to  give  a  complete  list,  or  to  be  very 
exact  in  dates,  the  following  may  be  enumerated: 
II  Malpiglio  ovvero  della  Corte,  1582  or  1583. 

VOL.  ii.  20 


230 


MANSO'S  long  account  of  TASSO'S  eloquent 
imaginary  conversation  with  a  spirit,  is  the  only 
thing  material  that  could  be  added  to  inflame 
the  suspicion  of  his  sanity  after  his  liberation. 
In  that  account  MANSO  himself  has  been  sus- 
pected of  poetical  exaggeration.  But  assuming 
it  as  all  true,  we  are  brought  to  the  inquiry 
whether  the  rest  of  his  conduct  and  writings, 
not  merely  so  rational  and  sensible,  but  so  phi- 
losophical and  full  of  genius,  can  be  ascribed 
to  a  lunatic,  with  sane  intervals,  or  whether 


II  Malpiglio  Secondo,  1583. 

La  Molza  ovvero  dell'  Amore,  1583. 

II  Beltramo  ovvero  della  Cortesia,  1584. 

II  Gianluca  ovvero  delle  Maschere,  1584. 

11  Ghirlinzone  ovvero  1'  Epitaffo,  1585. 

II  Forestiero  Napoletano,  1585. 

II  Cataneo  ovvero  degl'  Idoli,  1585. 

Della  Dignita,  (revised  and  finished,)  1585. 

Apologia,  etc.,  1585. 

Risposta  all'  Academia  della  Crusca,  1585. 

II  Costantino  ovvero  della  Clemenza,  1589. 

II  Manso  ovvero  dell'  Amicizia,  1592. 

II  Conte  ovvero  dell'  Imprese,  1594. 

II  monte  Oliveto. 

Orazione  in  lode  della  casa  Medici. 

II  Torrismondo. 

II  Nifo  ovvero  del  Piacere. 

Dialogo  della  Poesia  Toscana,  etc. 


231 


there  is  any  satisfactory  mode  of  accounting 
for  the  extraordinary  delusions  to  which  he  was 
subject  without  supposing  a  derangement  of  his 
intellectual  powers.  Just  before  his  death  pre- 
parations were  made  to  crown  him  solemnly 
with  laurel  in  the  capitol.  Was  all  ROME  mad 
likewise  ?  But  if  that  ceremony  may  be  sus- 
pected of  poetical  enthusiasm,  what  shall  we 
say  of  his  lawsuit  at  Naples,  where  insanity 
was  pleaded  in  opposition  to  his  claim.*  The 
pedantry  of  quoting  a  judicial  decision  on  a 
matter  where  all  the  world  have  become  judges, 
will  not,  most  assuredly,  be  committed.  But 
the  tribunals  of  justice  are  little  liable  to  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  strong  effect  of  TASSO'S  life  and 
works  in  opposition  to  the  charge,  must  be 
remarked,  not  only  in  the  final  event  of  the 
case,  but  even  on  Dr.  Black  himself,  whose 
whole  book  was  written  upon  the  theory  of  the 
poet's  madness.  The  biographer  calls  the 
allegation  of  insanity,  "  this  absurd  and  inhuman 


*  Serassi,  460.  It  does  not  certainly  appear  that  a  judgment 
was  pronounced  upon  the  point;  but  the  cause  proceeded,  and 
was  compromised  by  the  payment  of  an  annuity,  which  it  is 
not  presumable  would  have  been  done  if  the  plea  of  insanity 
could  have  been  supported. 


232 


objection"  Inhuman,  if  you  please,  though  that 
might  be  disputed,  but  how  absurd,  if  he  were 
really  mad  ? 

A  more  whimsical  victory  over  one's  own 
favorite  hypothesis,  has  rarely  been  achieved 
by  the  involuntary  and  unobserved  impulse  of 
common  sense. 

But  if  TASSO'S  life  and  works  repel  conclu- 
sively the  supposition  of  madness,  how  are  we 
to  explain  those  extraordinary  hallucinations  of 
his,  that  seem  utterly  irreconcileable  with  a 
sound  intellect  ? 

In  his  day,  and  even  much  more  recently, 
this  would  have  been  entirely  impossible;  but 
modern  science,  by  the  collection  of  authentic 
materials,  and  the  habit  of  strict  and  patient 
induction  and  analysis,  has  opened  a  new 
chapter  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  ;  and 
it  may  now  be  affirmed,  that  all  the  symptoms 
of  TORQUATO  can  be  accounted  for  upon  phi- 
losophical principles,  without  at  all  supposing 
his  understanding  to  be  disturbed. 

Let  it  be  remarked  that  TASSO,  in  attributing 
his  disease  to  supernatural  agency,  reasoned  in 
the  spirit  of  his  age,  when  a  disbelief  in  witch- 


craft  was  heretical.*  Be  it  observed,  also,  and 
this  is  by  far  more  important,  that  he  often 
speaks  doubtfully  of  the  facts,  which  are  at 
variance  with  his  judgment,  and  yields  belief 
to  them  reluctantly  only  when  compelled  by 
the  apparently  irresistible  evidence  of  his 
senses.  Thus  he  says  as  to  the  enchantments 
he  is  not  so  certain,  because  the  rats,  who 
appear  to  him  possessed,  may  make  the  noise 
they  do  naturally,  and  the  origin  of  the  other 
sounds  may  be  traced  to  human  means.'t 
Then  follow  the  names  and  sounds  he  hears, 
and  the  objects  he  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees. 

In  his  letter  to  Mercuriale  he  says,  "  I  appear 
to  have  heard,  (if  indeed  I  have  not  really 
heard,")  etc.  We  find  him  also  congratulating 
himself  on  his  resolution  to  defend  his  W//from 
the  devil ;  on  his  capacity  to  withhold  his 
assent,  which  is,  he  says,  the  mark  of  a  rational 
mind,  and  on  his  ability  to  compose. 

He  seems  to  behold  flames  in  the  air,  and  he 


*  Black  himself  very  reasonably  attributes  the  thefts  of  the 
foletto,  not  to  the  devil,  "  but  to  TASSO'S  devilish  attendants." 
Black's  Life  of  Tasso,  vol.  ii.,  p.  175. 

t  Vide,  ante,  letter  to  CATANEO. 
20* 


234 

hears  noises  and  sees  sights  entirely  unaccounta- 
ble to  him  by  natural  causes,  and  hence  the 
evil  is  attributed  to  magic,  and  the  good  to 
miracle. 

If  the  phantasms  of  TASSO  can  be  explained, 
therefore,  without  admitting  his  intellect  to  be 
impaired,  the  riddle  of  his  supposed  madness 
is  solved.  This  subject  has  of  late  years  been 
so  ably  and  admirably  discussed  in  various 
works,  both  popular  and  scientific,  that  an 
apology  is  due  to  our  readers  for  the  diffuseness 
of  our  borrowed  explanations.  But  the  trea- 
tises of  Dr.  Ferriar  and  Dr.  Hibbert,  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott's  Demonology  and  Witchcraft,  and 
Brewster's  Natural  Magic,  are  as  yet  sealed 
books  to  such  as  speak  only  the  language  of 
TASSO,  into  which  it  is  not  improbable  this 
essay  may  be  translated.  Those  who  read 
them  in  the  original,  therefore,  will  hold  us 
excused. 

"  The  leading  case,  as  it  may  be  called,  on 
this  subject,  is  that  of  M.  Nicolai,  the  celebrated 
bookseller  of  Berlin.  This  gentleman  was  a 
man  of  letters,  and  had  the  moral  courage  to 
lay  before  the  Philosophical  Society  of  Berlin, 
an  account  of  his  own  sufferings,  from  having 


235 

been  by  disease  subject  to  a  series  of  spectral 
illusions.  He  traced  his  illness  to  a  succession 
of  disagreeable  incidents  which  happened  to 
him  in  1791.  The  depression  of  spirit  they 
occasioned,  was  increased  by  neglecting  a  peri- 
odical bleeding  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
observe.  This  state  of  health  brought  on  the 
disposition  to  see  phantasmata,  which  frequented 
his  apartments,  presenting  crowds  of  persons 
who  moved  and  acted  in  his  sight,  and  even 
spoke  to  him.  The  phantoms  exhibited  nothing 
unpleasant  to  the  imagination  of  the  learned 
visionary,  and  he  had  loo  much  firmness  to  be 
otherwise  affected  by  their  presence  than  with 
a  kind  of  curiosity,  as  he  remained  convinced 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  disorder, 
that  these  singular  effects  were  merely  symp- 
toms of  the  state  of  his  health,  and  did  not  in 
any  other  respect  regard  them  as  a  subject  of 
apprehension.  After  some  time  and  the  use  of 
medicine,  the  phantoms  became  less  and  less 
distinct  in  their  outline  —  faded,  as  it  were,  on 
the  eye  of  the  patient,  and,  at  length,  totally 
disappeared."* 

*  Letters  on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft.    Letter  I. 


236 


"  Dr.  Hibbert,  who  has  most  ingeniously,  as 
well  as  philosophically  handled  this  subject,  has 
treated  it  also  in  a  medical  point  of  view,  with 
a  science  to  which  we  make  no  pretence,  and 
a  precision  of  detail  to  which  our  superficial 
investigation  affords  us  no  room  for  extending 
ourselves. 

"  The  visitation  of  spectral  phenomena  is 
described  by  this  learned  gentleman,  as  inci- 
dental to  sundry  complaints ;  and  he  mentions 
in  particular,  that  the  symptom  occurs  not  only 
in  plethora,  as  in  the  case  of  Nicolai,  but  is  a 
frequent  hectic  symptom  —  often  an  associate  of 
febrile  and  inflammatory  disorders — frequently 
accompanying  inflammation  of  the  brain  —  a 
concomitant,  also,  of  highly  excited  nervous 
irritability — equally  connected  with  hypochon- 
dria, and  finally,  united  in  some  cases  with 
gout,  and  in  others,  with  the  effects  of  excitation, 
produced  by  several  gases.  In  all  these  cases, 
there  seems  to  be  a  morbid  degree  of  sensibility, 
with  which  this  symptom  is  ready  to  ally  itself, 
and  which,  though  inaccurate  as  a  medical  defi- 
nition, may  be  held  sufficiently  descriptive  of  one 
character  of  the  various  kinds  of  disorder  with 
which  this  painful  symptom  is  connected." 


237 


"  A  very  singular  and  interesting  illustration 
of  such  combinations  as  Dr.  Hibbert  lias  re- 
corded of  the  spectral  illusion  with  an  actual 
disorder,  and  that  of  a  dangerous  kind,  was 
frequently  related  in  society  by  the  late  learned 
and  accomplished  Dr.  Gregory,  of  Edinburgh, 
and  sometimes,  I  believe,  quoted  in  his  lectures. 
The  narrative,  according  to  the  author's  best 
recollection,  was  as  follows.  A  patient  of  Dr. 
Gregory,  a  person,  it  is  understood,  of  some 
rank,  having  requested  the  Doctor's  advice, 
made  the  following  extraordinary  statement  of 
his  complaint. 

"  '  I  am  in  the  habit,'  he  said,  '  of  dining  at 
five,  and  exactly  as  the  hour  of  six  arrives,  I  am 
subjected  to  the  following  painful  visitation. 
The  door  of  the  room,  even  when  I  have  been 
weak  enough  to  bolt  it,  which  I  have  sometimes 
done,  flies  wide  open  ;  an  old  hag,  like  one  of 
those  who  haunted  the  heath  of  Forres,  enters 
with  a  frowning  and  incensed  countenance, 
comes  straight  up  to  me,  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  spite  and  indignation  which  could 
characterize  her  who  haunted  the  merchant  of 
Abudah,  in  the  oriental  tale,  she  rushes  upon 
me,  says  something,  but  so  hastily  that  I  can- 


238 


not  discover  the  purport,  and  then  strikes  me  a 
severe  blow  with  her  staff.  I  fall  from  my 
chair  in  a  swoon,  which  is  of  longer  or  shorter' 
endurance.  To  the  recurrence  of  this  appari- 
tion I  arn  daily  subjected.  And  such  is  my 
new  and  singular  complaint.'  The  doctor 
immediately  asked  whether  his  patient  had 
invited  any  one  to  sit  with  him  when  he  ex- 
pected such  a  visitation  ?  He  answered  in 
the  negative.  The  nature  of  the  complaint 
he  said,  was  so  singular,  it  was  so  likely  to  be 
imputed  to  fancy,  or  even  to  mental  derange- 
ment, that  he  shrunk  from  communicating  the 
circumstance  to  any  one.  '  Then,'  said  the 
Doctor,  '  with  your  permission,  I  will  dine 
with  you  to  day,  tete-d-tete,  and  we  will  see  if 
your  malignant  old  woman  will  join  our  com- 
pany.' The  patient  accepted  the  proposal  with 
hope  and  gratitude,  for  he  had  expected  ridi- 
cule rather  than  sympathy.  They  met  at  din- 
ner, and  Dr.  Gregory,  who  suspected  some 
nervous  disorder,  exerted  his  powers  of  conver- 
sation, well  known  to  be  of  the  most  varied 
and  brilliant  character,  to  keep  the  attention  of 
his  host  engaged  and  prevent  him  from  thinking 
of  the  approach  of  the  fated  hour,  to  which  he 


239 


was  accustomed  to  look  forward  with  so  much 
terror.  He  succeeded  better  in  his  purpose 
than  he  expected.  The  hour  of  six  came 
almost  unnoticed,  and  it  was  hoped  might  pass 
away  without  any  evil  consequence ;  but  it  was 
scarce  a  moment  struck  when  the  owner  of  the 
house  exclaimed  in  an  alarmed  voice,  'The  hag 
comes  again !'  and  dropped  back  in  his  chair 
in  a  swoon,  in  the  way  he  had  himself  described. 
The  physician  caused  him  to  be  let  blood,  and 
satisfied  himself  that  the  periodical  shocks  of 
which  his  patient  complained  arose  from  a  ten- 
dency to  apoplexy."* 

"  A  second  and  equally  remarkable  instance 
was  communicated  to  the  author  by  the  medical 
man  under  whose  observation  it  fell,  but  who 
was  of  course  desirous  to  keep  private  the  name 
of  the  hero  of  so.  singular  a  history.  Of  the 
friend  by  whom  the  facts  were  attested  I  can 
only  say,  that  if  I  found  myself  at  liberty  to 
name  him,  the  rank  which  he  holds  in  his  pro- 
fession as  well  as  his  attainments  in  science  and 
philosophy,  form  an  undisputed  claim  to  the 
most  implicit  credit. 

*  Letters  on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft.    Letter  I. 


240 


"It  was  the  fortune  of  this  gentleman  to  be 
called  in  to  attend  the  illness  of  a  person  now 
long  deceased,  who  in  his  lifetime  stood,  as  I 
am  informed,  high  in  a  particular  department 
of  the  law,  which  often  placed  the  property  of 
others  at  his  discretion  and  control,  and  whose 
conduct,  therefore,  being  open  to  public  obser- 
vation, he  had  for  many  years  borne  the  character 
of  a  man  of  unusual  steadiness,  good  sense,  and 
integrity.  He  was  at  the  time  of  my  friend's 
visits,  confined  principally  to  his  sick  room, 
sometimes  to  bed,  yet  occasionally  attending  to 
business  and  exerting  his  mind  apparently  with 
all  its  usual  strength  and  energy,  to  the  conduct 
of  important  affairs  entrusted  to  him  ;  nor  did 
there,  to  a  superficial  observer,  appear  anything 
in  his  conduct,  while  so  engaged,  that  could 
argue  vacillation  of  intellect-  or  depression  of 
mind.  His  outward  symptoms  of  malady 
indicated  no  acute  or  alarming  disease.  But 
slowness  of  pulse,  absence  of  appetite,  diffi- 
culty of  digestion,  and  constant  depression  of 
spirits  seemed  to  draw  their  origin  from  some 
hidden  cause  which  the  patient  was  determined 
to  conceal.  The  deep  gloom  of  the  unfortu- 
nate gentleman  —  the  embarrassment  which  he 


241 


could  not  hide  from  his  friendly  physician  — 
the  briefness  and  obvious  constraint  with  which 
he  answered  the  interrogations  of  his  medical 
adviser,  induced  my  friend  to  take  other  me- 
thods for  prosecuting  his  inquires.  He  applied 
to  the  sufferer's  family  to  learn,  if  possible,  the 
source  of  that  secret  grief  which  was  gnawing 
at  the  heart  and  sucking  the  life-blood  of  his 
unfortunate  patient. 

"  The  persons  applied  to,  after  conversing 
together  previously,  denied  all  knowledge  of 
any  cause  for  the  burthen  that  obviously 
affected  their  relative.  So  far  as  they  knew, 
and  they  thought  they  could  hardly  be  de- 
ceived, his  worldly  affairs  were  prosperous  ;  no 
family  loss  had  occurred,  which  could  be  fol- 
lowed with  such  persevering  distress ;  no 
entanglements  of  affection  could  be  supposed 
to  apply  to  his  age,  and  no  sensation  of  severe 
remorse  could  be  consistent  with  his  character. 
The  medical  gentleman  finally  had  recourse  to 
serious  argument  with  the  invalid  himself,  and 
urged  to  him  the  folly  of  devoting  himself  to  a 
lingering  and  melancholy  death,  rather  than 
tell  the  subject  of  affliction  which  was  thus 
wasting  him.  He  specially  pressed  upon  him 

VOL.  n.  21 


242 

the  injury  he  was  doing  to  his  own  character 
by  suffering  it  to  be  inferred  that  the  secret 
cause  of  his  dejection,  and  its  consequences, 
was  something  too  scandalous  to  be  known, 
bequeathing  in  this  manner  to  his  family  a  sus- 
pected and  dishonored  name,  and  leaving  a 
memory  that  might  be  associated  with  the  idea 
of  guilt,  which  the  criminal  had  died  without 
confessing.  The  patient,  more  moved  by  this 
species  of  appeal  than  by  any  which  had  yet 
been  urged,  expressed  his  desire  to  speak  out 

frankly   to  Dr.  .     Every  one    else    was 

removed,  and  the  door  of  the  sick  room  made 
secure,  when  he  began  his  confession  in  the 
following  manner : 

"  c  You  cannot,  my  dear  friend,  be  more  con- 
scious than  I,  that  I  am  dying  under  the  effect 
of  a  disease  which  consumes  my  vital  powers  ; 
but  neither  can  you  understand  the  nature  of 
my  complaint,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  acts 
upon  me,  nor  if  you  did,  I  fear,  could  your  zeal 
and  skill  avail  to  rid  me  of  it.' 

"'It  is  possible,' said  the  physician,  'that 
my  skill  may  not  equal  my  wish  to  serve  you, 
yet  medical  science  has  many  resources,  of 


243 

which  those  unacquainted  with  its  powers  never 
can  form  an  estimate.  But  until  you  plainly 
tell  me  your  symptoms  of  complaint,  it  is  im- 
possible for  either  of  us  to  say  what  may  or 
may  not  be  in  my  power,  or  within  that  of 
medicine.' 

"  '  I  may  answer  you,'  replied  the  patient, 
'  that  my  case  is  not  a  singular  one,  since  we 
read  of  it  in  the  famous  novel  of  Le  Sage. 
You  remember  doubtless  the  disease  of  which 
the  Duke  d'  Olivarez  is  there  said  to  have 
died  r" 

"  '  Of  the  idea,'  answered  the  medical  gen- 
tleman, '  that  he  was  haunted  by  an  apparition 
to  which  he  gave  no  credit,  but  died  neverthe- 
less because  he  was  overcome,  and  heart-broken 
by  its  imaginary  presence.' 

"  '  I,  my  dearest  doctor,'  said  the  sick  man, 
'  am  in  that  very  case  ;  and  so  painful  and 
abhorrent  is  the  presence  of  the  persecuting 
vision,  that  my  reason  is  totally  inadequate  to 
combat  the  effects  of  rny  morbid  imagination, 
and  I  am  sensible  I  am  dying  a  wasted  victim 
to  an  imaginary  disease.' 

"  The  medicalgentleman listened  with  anxiety 
to  his  patient's  statement,  and  for  the  present 


244 


judiciously  avoiding  any  contradiction  of  the 
sick  man's  preconceived  fancy,  contented  him- 
self with  more  minute  inquiry  into  the  nature 
of  the  apparition  with  which  he  conceived 
himself  haunted,  and  into  the  history  of  the 
mode  by  which  so  singular  a  disease  had  made 
itself  master  of  his  imagination,  secured,  as  it 
seemed,  by  strong  powers  of  the  understanding, 
against  an  attack  so  irregular.  The  sick  per- 
son replied  by  stating  that  its  advances  were 
gradual,  and  at  first  not  of  a  terrible,  or  even 
disagreeable  character.  To  illustrate  this,  he 
gave  the  following  account  of  the  progress  of 
his  disease. 

«  <  My  visions,'  he  said,  '  commenced  two 
or  three  years  since,  when  I  found  myself  from 
time  to  time  embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  a 
large  cat,  which  came  and  disappeared  I  could 
not  exactly  tell  how,  till  the  truth  was  finally 
forced  upon  me,  and  I  was  compelled  to  regard 
it  as  no  domestic  household  cat,  but  a  bubble 
of  the  elements,  which  had  no  existence  save 
in  my  deranged  visual  organs,  or  depraved 
imagination.  Still  I  had  not  that  positive 
objection  to  the  animal  entertained  by  a  late 
gallant  highland  chieftain,  who  has  been  seen 


245 

to  change  to  all  the  colors  of  his  own  plaid,  if  a 
cat  by  accident  happened  to  be  in  the  room 
with  him,  even  though  he  did  not  see  it.  On 
the  contrary  I  am  rather  a  friend  to  cats,  and 
endured  with  so  much  equanimity  the  presence 
of  my  imaginary  attendant,  that  it  had  become 
almost  indifferent  to  me;  when,  within  the 
course  of  a  few  months,  it  gave  place  to,  or 
rather  was  succeeded  by,  a  spectre  of  a  more 
important  sort,  or  which  at  least  had  a  more 
imposing  appearance.  This  was  no  other  than 
the  apparition  of  a  gentleman  usher,  dressed 
as  if  to  wait  upon  a  lord  lieutenant  of  Ireland, 
a  lord  high  commissioner  of  the  kirk,  or  any 
other  who  bears  on  his  brow  the  rank  and 
stamp  of  delegated  sovereignty. 

"  '  This  personage,  arrayed  in  a  court  dress, 
with  a  bag  and  sword,  tamboured  waist- 
coat and  chapeau-bras,  glided  beside  me  like 
the  ghost  of  Beau  NASH,  and  whether  in  my 
own  house  or  in  another  ascended  the  stairs 
before  me,  as  if  to  announce  me  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  sometimes  appeared  to  mingle 
with  the  company,  though  it  was  sufficiently 
evident  that  they  were  not  aware  of  his  pre- 
sence, and  that  1  alone  was  sensible  of  the 
21* 


246 


visionary  honors  which  this  imaginary  being 
seemed  desirous  to  render  me.  This  freak  of 
the  fancy  did  not  produce  much  impression  on 
me,  though  it  led  me  to  entertain  doubts  on  the 
nature  of  my  disorder,  and  alarm  for  the  effect 
it  might  produce  upon  my  intellects.  But  that 
modification  of  my  disease  had  also  its  ap- 
pointed duration.  After  a  few  months  the 
phantom  of  the  gentleman  usher  was  seen  no 
more,  but  was  succeeded  by  one  horrible  to  the 
sight,  and  distressing  to  the  imagination,  being 
no  other  than  the  image  of  death  itself —  the 
apparition  of  a  skeleton.  Alone,  or  in  com- 
pany,' continued  the  unfortunate  invalid,  '  the 
presence  of  this  last  phantom  never  quits  me. 
I  in  vain  tell  myself  a  hundred  times  over,  that 
it  is  no  reality,  but  merely  an  image  summoned 
up  by  the  morbid  acuteness  of  my  own  excited 
imagination  and  deranged  organs  of  sight.  But 
what  avail  such  reflections  while  the  emblem 
at  once  and  presage  of  mortality  is  before  my 
eyes,  and  while  I  feel  myself,  though  in  fancy 
only,  the  companion  of  a  phantom  representing 
a  ghastly  inhabitant  of  the  grave,  even  while  I 
yet  breathe  on  earth  ?  Science,  philosophy, 
and  even  religion  has  no  cure  for  such  a  disor- 


247 


der  ;  and  I  feel  too  surely  that  I  shall  die  the 
victim  of  this  melancholy  disease,  although  I 
have  no  belief  whatever  in  the  reality  of  the 
phantom  which  it  places  before  me.' 

"  The  physician  was  distressed  to  perceive 
from  these  details  how  strongly  this  visionary 
apparition  was  fixed  in  the  imagination  of  his 
patient.  He  ingeniously  urged  the  sick  man, 
who  was  then  in  bed,  with  questions  concerning 
the  circumstances  of  the  phantom's  appearance, 
trusting  to  lead  him,  as  a  sensible  man,  into 
such  contradictions  and  inconsistencies  as  would 
bring  his  common  sense,  which  seemed  to  be 
unimpaired,  so  strongly  into  the  field  that  it 
might  combat  successfully  the  fantastic  disorder 
which  produced  such  fatal  effects. 

"  '  This  skeleton,  then,'  said  the  doctor, 
1  seems  to  you  to  be  always  present  to  your 
eyes  ?' 

"  '  It  is  my  fate,  unhappily,'  answered  the 
invalid,  '  always  to  see  it.' 

"  '  Then  I  understand,'  continued  the  physi- 
cian, «  it  is  now  present  to  your  imagination?' 

"  *  To  my  imagination  it  certainly  is  so,'  re- 
plied the  sick  man. 

"  «  And  in  what  part  of  the  chamber  do  you 


248 


now  conceive  the  apparition  to  appear?'  the 
physician  inquired. 

"  '  Immediately  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,' 
answered  the  invalid.  '  When  the  curtains  are 
left  a  little  open,  the  skeleton,  to  my  thinking, 
is  placed  between  them,  and  fills  the  vacant 
space.' 

"  '  You  say  you  are  sensible  of  the  illusion,' 
said  his  friend,  «  have  you  firmness  to  convince 
yourself  of  the  truth  of  this  ?  Can  you  take 
courage  enough  to  rise  and  place  yourself  in 
the  spot  so  seeming  to  be  occupied,  and  con- 
vince yourself  of  the  illusion  ?' 

"  The  poor  man  sighed,  and  shook  his  head 
negatively. 

"  '  Well,'  said  the  doctor,  '  we  will  try  the 
experiment  otherwise.'  Accordingly  he  rose, 
and  placing  himself  between  the  two  half- 
drawn  curtains  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  indicated 
as  the  place  occupied  by  the  apparition,  asked 
if  the  spectre  was  still  visible. 

"  '  Not  entirely  so,'  replied  the  patient,  *  be- 
cause your  person  is  between  him  and  me,  but 
I  observe  his  skull  peering  above  your  shoulder.' 

"  It  is  alleged  the  man  of  science  started  at 
the  moment,  despite  philosophy,  on  receiving 


249 

an  answer  ascertaining  with  such  minuteness 
that  the  ideal  spectre  was  close  to  his  own  per- 
son. He  resorted  to  other  means  of  investiga- 
tion and  cure,  but  with  equally  indifferent 
success.  The  patient  sunk  into  deeper  and 
deeper  dejection,  and  died  in  the  same  distress 
of  mind  in  which  he  had  spent  the  latter 
months  of  his  life ;  and  his  case  remains  a  me- 
lancholy instance  of  the  power  of  imagination 
to  kill  the  body  even  when  its  fantastic  terrors 
cannot  overcome  the  intellect  of  the  unfortunate 
persons  who  suffer  under  them.  The  patient 
in  the  present  case  sunk  under  his  malady,  and 
the  circumstances  of  his  singular  disorder 
remaining  concealed,  he  did  not,  by  his  last 
illness  and  death,  lose  any  of  the  well-merited 
reputation  for  prudence  and  sagacity  which  had 
attended  him  during  the  whole  course  of  his 
life."* 

Thus  far  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Sir  David 
Brewster,  in  his  letters  on  natural  magic,  gives 
a  most  interesting  and  satisfactory  account  of 


*  Letters  on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft.    Letter  I. 


250 

this  class  of  phenomena,  and  relates  the  follow- 
ing very  singular  case : 

"  A  few  years  ago  I  had  occasion  to  spend 
some  days  under  the  same  roof  with  the  lady 
to  whose  case  I  have  above  referred.  At  that 
time  she  had  seen  no  spectral  illusions,  and  was 
acquainted  with  the  subject  only  from  the 
interesting  volume  of  Dr.  Hibbert.  In  con- 
versing with  her  about  the  cause  of  these  appa- 
ritions, I  mentioned  that  if  she  should  ever  see 
such  a  thing  she  might  distinguish  a  genuine 
ghost  existing  externally,  and  seen  as  an  exter- 
nal object  from  one  created  by  the  mind,  by 
merely  pressing  one  eye,  or  straining  them  both 
so  as  to  see  objects  double  ;  for  in  this  case  the 
external  object,  or  supposed  apparition,  would 
invariably  be  doubled,  while  the  impression  on 
the  retina  created  by  the  mind  would  remain 
single.  This  observation  recurred  to  her  when 
she  unfortunately  became  subject  to  the  same 
illusions  ;  but  she  was  too  well  acquainted  with 
their  nature  to  require  any  such  evidence  of 
their  mental  origin  ;  and  the  state  of  agitation 
which  generally  accompanies  them  seems  to 


251 


have  prevented  her  from  making  the  experiment 
as  a  matter  of  curiosity. 

"  The  first  illusion  to  which  Mrs.  A.  was 
subject,  was  one  which  afiected  only  the  ear. 
On  the  26th  of  December,  1530,  about  half 
past  four  in  the  afternoon,  she  was  standing 
near  the  fire  in  the  hall,  and  on  the  point  of 
going  up  stairs  to  dress,  when  she  heard,  as  she 
supposed,  her  husband's  voice  calling  her  by 

name,  ' ,  come   here!  come  to  me!' 

She  imagined  he  was  calling  at  the  door  to  have 
it  opened,  but  on  going  there  and  opening  the 
door  she  was  surprised  to  find  no  person  there. 
Upon  returning  to  the  fire,  she  again  heard  the 
same  voice  calling  out  very  distinctly  and 

loudly,  ' ,  come,  come  here  !'     She 

then  opened  two  other  doors  of  the  same  room, 
and  upon  seeing  nobody  she  returned  to  the 
fire-place.  After  a  few  moments  she  heard  the 

same  voice  still  calling,  ' ,  come  to 

me,  come,  come  away!'  in  a  loud,  plaintive, 
and  somewhat  impatient  tone.  She  answered 
as  loudly,  *  Where  are  you  ?  I  don't  know 
where  you  are  ;'  still  imagining  that  he  was 
somewhere  in  search  of  her ;  but  on  receiving 
no  answer  she  shortly  went  up  stairs.  On  Mr. 


252 


A.'s  return  to  the  house  about  half  an  hour 
afterwards,  she  inquired  why  he  called  her  so 
often  and  where  he  was  ;  and  she  was  of  course 
greatly  surprised  to  learn  that  he  had  not  been 
near  the  house  at  the  time.  A  similar  illusion, 
which  excited  no  particular  notice  at  the  mo- 
ment, occurred  to  Mrs.  A.,  when  residing  at 
Florence  about  ten  years  before,  and  when  she 
was  in  perfect  health.  When  she  was  undres- 
sing after  a  ball,  she  heard  a  voice  call  her  re- 
peatedly by  name,  and  she  was  at  that  time 
unable  to  account  for  it. 

"  The  next  illusion  which  occurred  to  Mrs.  A. 
was  of  a  more  alarming  character.  On  the 
30th  of  December,  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  Mrs.  A.  came  down  stairs  into  the 
drawing  room,  which  she  had  quitted  only  a 
few  minutes  before,  and  on  entering  the  room 
saw  her  husband,  as  she  supposed,  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fire.  As  he  had  gone  out 
to  take  a  walk  about  half  an  hour  before,  she 
was  surprised  to  see  him  there,  and  asked  him 
why  he  had  returned  so  soon.  The  figure  looked 
fixedly  at  her  with  a  serious  and  thoughtful  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  but  did  not  speak. 
Supposing  that  his  mind  was  absorbed  in 


253 

thought,  she  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  near  the 
fire,  and  within  two  feet  at  most  of  the  figure, 
which  she  still  saw  standing  before  her.  As  its 
eyes,  however,  continued  to  be  fixed  upon  her, 
she  said,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes, 

'Why  don't  you   speak r"      The   figure 

immediately  moved  off  towards  the  window  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  room,  with  its  eyes  still 
gazing  on  her,  and  it  passed  so  very  close  to 
her  in  doing  so,  that  she  was  struck  by  the  cir- 
cumstance of  hearing  no  step,  nor  sound,  nor 
feeling  her  clothes  brushed  against,  nor  even 
any  agitation  of  the  air.  Although  she  was 
now  convinced  that  the  figure  was  not  her  hus- 
band, yet  she  never  for  a  moment  supposed  that 
it  was  anything  supernatural,  and  was  soon  con* 
vinced  that  it  was  a  spectral  illusion.  As  soon 
as  this  conviction  had  established  itself  in  her 
mind,  she  recollected  the  experiment  which  I 
had  suggested,  of  trying  to  double  the  object ; 
but  before  she  was  able  to  do  this,  the  figure 
had  retreated  to  the  window,  where  it  disap- 
peared. Mrs.  A.  immediately  followed  it, 
shook  the  curtains  and  examined  the  window, 
the  impression  having  been  so  distinct  and  for- 
cible that  she  was  unwilling  to  believe  it  was 
VOL.  ii.  22 


254 


not  a  reality.  Finding,  however,  that  the  figure 
had  no  natural  means  of  escape,  she  was  con- 
vinced that  she  had  seen  a  spectral  apparition, 
like  those  recorded  in  Dr.  Hibbert's  work,  and 
she  consequently  felt  no  alarm  or  agitation.  The 
appearance  was  seen  in  bright  daylight  and 
lasted  four  or  five  minutes.  When  the  figure 
stood  close  to  her  it  concealed  the  objects  be- 
hind it,  and  the  apparition  was  full  as  vivid  as 
the  reality. 

"  On  these  two  occasions  Mrs.  A.  was  alone, 
but  when  the  next  phantasm  appeared  her  hus- 
band was  present.  This  took  place  on  the  4th 
of  January,  1830.  About  ten  o'clock  at  night, 
when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A.  were  sitting  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, Mr.  A.  took  up  the  poker  to  stir  the 
fire,  and  when  he  was  in  the  act  of  doing  this, 
Mrs.  A.  exclaimed,  '  Why,  there's  a  cat  in  the 
room  !'  'Where  ?'  asked  Mr.  A.  '  There, 
close  to  you,'  she  replied.  '  Where  ?'  he  re- 
peated. «  Why,  on  the  rug,  to  be  sure,  between 
yourself  and  the  coal-scuttle.'  Mr.  A.,  who  had 
still  the  poker  in  his  hand,  pushed  it  in  the 
direction  mentioned.  «  Take  care,'  cried  Mrs. 
A.,  *  take  care,  you  are  hitting  her  with  the  po- 
ker.' Mr.  A.  again  asked  her  to  point  out  exactly 


255 


where  she  saw  the  cat.  She  replied,  '  Why, 
sitting  up  there,  close  to  your  feet,  on  the  rug. 
She  is  looking  at  me.  It  is  Kitty  —  come  here, 
here,  Kitty.'  There  were  two  cats  in  the  house, 
one  of  which  went  by  this  name,  and  they  were 
rarely,  if  ever,  in  the  drawing  room.  At  this 
time,  Mrs.  A.  had  no  idea  that  the  sight  of  the 
cat  was  an  illusion.  When  she  was  asked  to 
touch  it,  she  got  up  for  the  purpose,  and  seemed 
as  if  she  were  pursuing  something  that  moved 
away.  She  followed  a  few  steps,  and  then 
said,  « It  has  gone  under  the  chair.'  Mr.  A.  as- 
sured her  it  was  an  illusion,  but  she  would  not 
believe  it.  He  then  lifted  up  the  chair,  and 
Mrs.  A.  saw  nothing  more  of  it.  The  room 
was  then  searched  all  over,  and  nothing  found 
in  it.  There  was  a  dog  lying  on  the  hearth 
who  would  have  betrayed  great  uneasiness  if  a 
cat  had  been  in  the  room,  but  he  lay  perfectly 
quiet.  In  order  to  be  quite  certain,  Mr.  A. 
rung  the  bell  and  sent  for  the  two  cats,  both  of 
which  were  found  in  the  housekeeper's  room. 

"  About  a  month  after  this  occurrence,  Mrs. 
A.,  who  had  taken  a  somewhat  fatiguing  drive 
during  the  day,  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed 
about  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  sitting  before 


256 


the  dressing-glass  was  occupied  in  arranging 
her  hair.  She  was  in  a  listless  and  drowsy 
state  of  mind,  but  fully  awake.  When  her 
fingers  were  in  active  motion  among  the  papil- 
lotes,  she  was  suddenly  startled  by  seeing  in 
the  mirror  the  figure  of  a  near  relation,  who 
was  then  in  Scotland  and  in  perfect  health. 
The  apparition  appeared  over  her  left  shoulder, 
and  its  eyes  met  hers  in  the  glass.  It  was  en- 
veloped in  grave-clothes,  closely  pinned,  as  is 
usual  with  corpses,  around  the  head  and  under 
the  chin,  and  though  the  eyes  were  open,  the 
features  were  solemn  and  rigid.  The  dress 
was  evidently  a  shroud,  as  Mrs.  A.  remarked 
even  the  punctured  pattern  usually  worked  in 
a  peculiar  manner  around  the  edges  of  that  gar- 
ment. Mrs.  A.  described  herself  as  at  the  same 
time  sensible  of  a  feeling  like  what  we  con- 
ceive of  fascination,  compelling  her  to  gaze  on 
this  melancholy  apparition,  which  was  as  dis- 
tinct and  vivid  as  any  reflected  reality  could  be, 
the  light  of  the  candles  upon  the  dressing-table 
appearing  to  shine  fully  upon  its  face.  After  a 
few  minutes  she  turned  round  to  look  for  the 
reality  of  the  form  over  her  shoulder,  but  it 
was  not  visible,  and  it  had  also  disappeared 


257 

from  the  glass  when  she  looked  again  in  that 
direction. 

"On  another  occasion  the  same  lady,  having 
dismissed  her  maid,  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed, 
when  on  raising  her  eyes,  she  saw  seated  in  a 
large  easy-chair  before  her,  the  figure  of  a  de- 
ceased friend,  the  sister  of  Mr.  A.  The  figure 
was  dressed  as  had  been  usual  with  her,  with 
great  neatness,  but  in  a  gown  of  a  peculiar 
kind,  such  as  Mrs.  A.  had  never  seen  her  wear, 
but  exactly  such  as  had  been  described  to  her 
by  a  common  friend  as  having  been  worn  by 
Mr.  A.'s  sister  during  her  last  visit  to  England. 
Mrs.  A.  paid  particular  attention  to  the  dress, 
air,  and  appearance  of  the  figure,  which  sat  in 
an  easy  attitude  in  the  chair,  holding  a  handker- 
chief in  one  hand.  Mrs.  A.  tried  to  speak  to 
it,  but  experienced  a  difficulty  in  doing  so,  and 
in  about  three  minutes  the  figure  disappeared. 
About  a  minute  afterwards,  Mr.  A.  came  into 
the  room  and  found  Mrs.  A.  slightly  nervous, 
but  fully  aware  of  the  delusive  nature  of  the 
apparition.  She  described  it  as  having  all  the 
vivid  coloring  and  apparent  reality  of  life,  and 
for  some  hours  preceding  this  and  other  visions, 
she  experienced  a  peculiar  sensation  in  her 
22* 


258 

eyes,  which  seemed  to  be  relieved  when  the 
vision  had  ceased. 

"  On  the  5th  of  October,  between  one  and 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Mr.  A.  was  awoKe 
by  Mrs.  A.,  who  told  him  she  had  just  seen  the 
figure  of  his  deceased  mother  draw  aside  the 
bed-curtains  and  appear  between  them.  The 
dress  and  the  look  of  the  apparition  were  pre- 
cisely those  in  which  Mr.  A.'s  mother  had  been 
last  seen  by  Mrs.  A.  at  Paris  in  1824. 

"  On  the  llth  of  October,  when  sitting  in  the 
drawing-room,  on  one  side  of  the  fire-place,  she 
saw  the  figure  of  another  deceased  friend 
moving  towards  her  from  the  window  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room.  It  approached  the 
fire-place,  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite. 
As  there  were  several  persons  in  the  room  at 
the  time,  she  describes  the  idea  uppermost  in 
her  mind  to  have  been  the  fear  lest  they  should 
be  alarmed  at  her  staring  in  the  way  she  was 
conscious  of  doing  at  vacancy,  and  should  fancy 
her  intellect  disordered.  Under  the  influence 
of  this  fear,  and  recollecting  a  story  of  a  similar 
effect  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  work  on  demonology 
and  witchcraft,  which  she  had  lately  read,  she 
summoned  up  the  requisite  resolution  to  cross 


the  space  before  the  fire-place,  and  seat  her- 
self in  the  same  chair  with  the  figure.  The 
apparition  remained  perfectly  distinct  till  she 
sat  down,  as  it  were,  in  its  lap,  when  it 
vanished. 

"  On  the  26th  of  the  same  month,  about  two 
P.  M.,  Mrs.  A.  was  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the 
window  in  the  same  room  with  her  husband. 
He  heard  her  exclaim,  '  What  have  I  seen !' 
And  on  looking  at  her  he  observed  a  strange 
expression  in  her  eyes  and  countenance.  A 
carriage  and  four  had  appeared  to  her  to  be 
driving  up  the  entrance  road  to  the  house.  As 
it  approached  she  felt  inclined  to  go  up  stairs  to 
prepare  to  receive  company,  but  as  if  spell- 
bound she  was  unable  to  move  or  speak.  The 
carriage  approached,  and  as  it  arrived  within 
a  few  yards  of  the  window,  she  saw  the  figures 
of  the  postillions,  and  the  persons  inside,  take 
the  ghastly  appearance  of  skeletons  and  other 
hideous  figures.  The  whole  then  vanished 
entirely,  when  she  uttered  the  above-mentioned 
exclamation. 

"  On  the  3d  of  December,  about  nine  P.  M., 
when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A.  were  sitting  near  each 
other  in  the  drawing-room  occupied  in  reading, 


260 


Mr.  A.  felt  a  pressure  on  his  foot.  On  looking 
up  he  observed  Mrs.  A.'s  eyes  fixed  with  a 
strong  unnatural  stare  on  a  chair  about  nine  or 
ten  feet  distant.  Upon  asking  her  what  she 
saw,  the  expression  of  her  countenance  changed , 
and  upon  recovering  herself  she  told  Mr.  A. 
that  she  had  seen  his  brother,  who  was  alive 
and  well  at  the  moment  in  London,  seated  in 
the  opposite  chair,  but  dressed  in  grave-clothes, 
and  with  a  ghastly  countenance,  as  if  scarcely 
alive. 

"  Such,"  continues  the  author  last  quoted, 
"  is  a  brief  account  of  the  various  spectral 
illusions  observed  by  Mrs.  A.  In  describing 
them  I  have  used  the  very  words  employed  by 
her  husband  in  his  communications  to  me  on 
the  subject,*  and  the  reader  may  be  assured 
that  the  descriptions  are  neither  heightened  by 
fancy  nor  amplified  by  invention.  The  high 
character  and  intelligence  of  the  lady,  and  the 
station  of  her  husband  in  society,  and  as  a  man 
of  learning  and  science,  would  authenticate  the 
most  marvellous  narrative,  and  satisfy  the  most 


*  Edinburgh  Journal  of  Science,  New  Series,  No.  4>,  pp.  218, 
219 ;  No.  6,  p.  244 ;  and  No.  8,  p.  261. 


261 

scrupulous  mind,  that  the  case  has  been  philo- 
sophically, as  well  as  faithfully  described.  In 
narrating  events  which  we  regard  as  super- 
natural, the  mint!  has  a  strong  tendency  to 
give  more  prominence  to  what  appears  to  itself 
the  most  wonderful ;  but  from  the  very  same 
cause,  when  we  describe  extraordinary  and  in- 
explicable phenomena,  which  we  believe  to  be 
the  result  of  natural  causes,  the  mind  is  prone 
to  strip  them  of  their  most  marvellous  points, 
and  bring  them  down  to  the  level  of  ordinary 
events.  From  the  very  commencement  of  the 
spectral  illusions  seen  by  Mrs.  A.,  both  she  and 
her  husband  were  well  aware  of  their  nature 
and  origin,  and  both  of  them  paid  the  most 
minute  attention  to  the  circumstances  which 
accompanied  them,  not  only  with  the  view  of 
throwing  light  upon  so  curious  a  subject,  but 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  their  connection 
with  the  state  of  health  under  which  they 
appeared. 

"  As  the  spectres  seen  by  Nicolai  and  others 
had  their  origin  in  bodily  indisposition,  it 
becomes  interesting  to  learn  the  state  of  Mrs. 
A.'s  health  when  she  was  under  the  influence 
of  these  illusions.  During  the  six  weeks  within 


262 


which  the  three  first  illusions  took  place,  she 
had  been  considerably  reduced  and  weakened 
by  a  troublesome  cough,  and  the  weakness 
which  this  occasioned  was  increased  by  her 
being  prevented  from  taking  a  daily  tonic.  Her 
general  health  had  not  been  strong,  and  long 
experience  has  put  it  beyond  a  doubt,  that  her 
indisposition  arises  from  a  disordered  state  of 
the  digestive  organs.  Mrs.  A.  has  naturally  a 
morbidly  sensitive  imagination,  which  so  pain- 
fully affects  her  corporeal  impressions,  that  the 
account  of  any  person  having  suffered  severe 
pain  by  accident  or  otherwise,  occasionally 
produces  acute  twinges  of  pain  in  the  corres- 
ponding parts  of  her  person.  The  account,  for 
example,  of  the  amputation  of  an  arm,  will  pro- 
duce an  instantaneous  and  severe  sense  of  pain 
in  her  own  arm.  She  is  subject  to  talk  in  her 
sleep  with  great  fluency,  to  repeat  long  pas- 
sages of  poetry,  particularly  when  she  is 
unwell,  and  even  to  cap  verses  for  half  an  hour 
together,  never  failing  to  quote  lines  beginning 
with  the  final  letter  of  the  preceding  one  till 
her  memory  is  exhausted. 

"  Although  it  is  not  probable  that  we  shall 
ever  be  able  to  understand  the  actual  manner 


263 


in  which  a  person  of  sound  mind  beholds 
spectral  apparitions  in  the  broad  light  of  day, 
yet  we  may  arrive  at  such  a  degree  of  know- 
ledge on  the  subject  as  to  satisfy  rational 
curiosity,  and  to  strip  the  phenomena  of  every 
attribute  of  the  marvellous.  Even  the  vision 
of  natural  objects  presents  to  us  insurmountable 
difficulties,  if  we  seek  to  understand  the  precise 
part  which  the  mind  performs  in  perceiving 
them  ;  but  the  philosopher  considers  that  he 
has  given  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  vision 
when  he  demonstrates  that  distinct  pictures  of 
external  objects  are  painted  on  the  retina,  and 
that  this  membrane  communicates  with  the 
brain  by  means  of  nerves  of  the  same  substance 
as  itself,  and  of  which  it  is  merely  an  expansion. 
Here  we  reach  the  gulf  which  human  intelli- 
gence cannot  pass  ;  and  if  the  presumptuous 
mind  of  man  shall  dare  to  extend  its  specula- 
tions further,  it  will  do  it  only  to  evince  its 
incapacity  and  mortify  its  pride. 

"  In  his  admirable  work  on  this  subject,  Dr. 
Hibbert  has  shown  that  spectral  illusions  are 
nothing  more  than  ideas,  or  the  recollected 
images  of  the  mind,  which  in  certain  states  of 
bodily  indisposition  have  been  rendered  more 


264 


vivid  than  actual  impressions  ;  or  to  use  other 
words,  that  the  pictures  in  the  '  mind's  eye' 
are  more  vivid  than  the  pictures  in  the  body's 
eye.  The  principle  has  been  placed  by  Dr. 
Hibbert  beyond  the  reach  of  doubt ;  but  I  pro- 
pose to  go  much  farther,  and  to  show  that  the 
4  mind's  eye'  is  actually  the  body's  eye,  and 
that  the  retina  is  the  common  tablet  on  which 
both  classes  of  impressions  are  painted,  and 
by  means  of  which  they  receive  their  visual 
existence  according  to  the  same  optical  laws. 
Nor  is  this  true  merely  in  the  case  of  spectral 
illusions ;  it  holds  good  of  all  ideas  recalled  by 
the  memory,  or  created  by  the  imagination,  and 
may  be  regarded  as  a  fundamental  law  in  the 
science  of  pneumatology. 

"  In  the  healthy  state  of  the  mind  and  body, 
the  relative  intensity  of  these  two  classes  of 
impressions  on  the  retina  is  nicely  adjusted. 
The  mental  pictures  are  transient,  and  compa- 
ratively feeble,  and  in  ordinary  temperaments 
are  never  capable  of  disturbing  or  effacing  the 
direct  images  of  visible  objects.  The  affairs  of 
life  could  not  be  carried  on  if  the  memory  were 
to  intrude  bright  representations  of  the  past  into 
the  domestic  scene,  or  scatter  them  over  the 


265 


external  landscape.  The  two  opposite  impres- 
sions, indeed,  could  not  co-exist;  the  same 
nervous  fibre  which  is  carrying  from  the  brain 
to  the  retina  the  figures  of  the  memory,  could 
not,  at  the  same  instant,  be  carrying  back  the 
impressions  of  external  objects  from  the  retina 
to  the  brain.  The  mind  cannot  perform  two 
different  functions  at  the  same  instant,  and  the 
direction  of  its  attention  to  one  of  the  two 
classes  of  impressions,  necessarily  produces  the 
extinction  of  the  other  ;  but  so  rapid  is  the 
exercise  of  mental  power,  that  the  alternate 
appearance  and  disappearance  of  the  two  con- 
tending impressions,  is  no  more  recognised 
than  the  successive  observations  of  external 
objects  during  the  twinkling  of  the  eyelids.  If 
we  look,  for  example,  at  the  facade  of  St. 
Paul's,  and  without  changing  our  position  call 
to  mind  the  celebrated  view  of  Mont  Blanc 
from  Lyons,  the  picture  of  the  cathedral,  though 
actually  impressed  upon  the  retina,  is  momen- 
tarily lost  sight  of  by  the  mind,  exactly  like  an 
object  seen  by  indirect  vision  ;  and  during  the 
instant  the  recollected  image  of  the  mountain, 
towering  above  the  subjacent  range,  is  dis- 
tinctly seen,  but  in  a  tone  of  subdued  coloring 
VOL.  n.  23 


266 


and  indistinct  outline.  When  the  purpose  of 
its  recall  is  answered  it  quickly  disappears,  and 
the  picture  of  the  cathedral  again  resumes  the 
ascendancy. 

"  In  darkness  and  solitude,  when  external 
objects  no  longer  interfere  with  the  pictures  of 
the  mind,  they  become  more  vivid  and  distinct; 
and  in  the  state  between  waking  and  sleeping 
the  intensity  of  the  impressions  approaches  to 
that  of  visible  objects.  With  persons  of  studious 
habits,  who  are  much  occupied  with  the  opera- 
tions of  their  own  minds,  the  mental  pictures 
are  much  more  distinct  than  in  ordinary  per- 
sons ;  and  in  the  midst  of  abstract  thought, 
external  objects  even  cease  to  make  any  im- 
pression on  the  retina.  A  philosopher,  absorbed 
in  his  contemplations,  experiences  a  temporary 
privation  of  the  use  of  his  senses.  His  children 
or  his  servants  will  enter  the  room  directly 
before  his  eyes  without  being  seen.  They  will 
speak  to  him  without  being  heard,  and  they 
will  even  try  to  rouse  him  from  his  reverie 
without  being  felt,  although  his  eyes,  his  ears, 
and  his  nerves,  actually  receive  the  impres- 
sions of  light,  sound,  and  touch.  In  such  cases, 
however,  the  philosopher  is  voluntarily  pur- 


267 


suing  a  train  of  thought  in  which  his  mind  is 
deeply  interested  ;  but  even  ordinary  men,  not 
much  addicted  to  speculations  of  any  kind, 
often  perceive  in  their  '  mind's  eye'  the  pictures 
of  deceased  or  absent  friends,  or  even  ludicrous 
creations  of  fancy,  which  have  no  connection 
whatever  with  the  train  of  their  thoughts.  Like 
spectral  apparitions  they  are  entirely  involun- 
tary, and  though  they  may  have  sprung  from  a 
regular  series  of  associations,  yet  it  is  fre- 
quently impossible  to  discover  a  single  link  in 
the  chain. 

"  If  it  be  true  then,  that  the  pictures  of  the 
mind  and  spectral  illusions  are  equally  impres- 
sions upon  the  retina,  the  latter  will  differ  in  no 
respect  from  the  former,  but  in  the  degree  of 
vividness  with  which  they  are  seen ;  and  those 
frightful  apparitions  become  nothing  more  than 
our  ordinary  ideas  rendered  more  brilliant  by 
some  accidental  and  temporary  derangement 
of  the  vital  functions."* 

More  minute  and  detailed  explanations  would 
be  foreign  to  the  object  of  this  work.  Those 

*  Letters  on  Natural  Magic. 


263 


who  desire  them  will  consult  the  various  philo- 
sophical treatises  in  which  they  maybe  found.* 
Nor  is  it  our  purpose  to  institute  any  tedious 
comparison  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that 
TASSO'S  disorder  was  of  this  particular  descrip- 
tion. Either  the  thing  proves  itself,  or  we 
should  fail  to  prove  it. 

He  lived  nearly  nine  years  after  his  release, 
was  invited  to  fill  a  professorship  in  GENOA, 
which  he  declined,  and  in  all  manner  of  wisdom, 
save  only  the  worldly,  was  reputed  not  merely 
sane  but  wise. 

In  his  letters  he  often  complains  pathetically 
of  sickness,  poverty,  loss  of  memory,  melan- 
choly, despair,  and  even  phrenzy;  but  after 
1587,  there  are  no  further  details  respecting 
his  imaginary  sights  and  sounds,  or  the  pranks 

Of  the  FOLETTO.t 

Unless,  therefore,  MANSO'S  account  of  his 
conversation  with  a  spirit  is  to  be  credited, 


*  See,  beside  the  works  already  referred  to,  Abercrombie's 
Inquiry  concerning  the  Intellectual  Powers. 

t  See  Lettere,  torn,  i.,  191,  225,  311,  345 ;  torn,  ii.,  26,  27,  63, 
94,  116,  183,  187,  203,  207;  torn,  iii.,  234;  torn,  iv.,  16, 223,  237, 
388,  351. 


269 

there  is  no  reason  for  believing  that  his  phan- 
tasms continued,  though  he  still  feared  poison, 
and  desired  a  reliquary  to  protect  him  from 
spells.* 

He  frequently  wrote  to  Duke  ALPHONSO,  im- 
ploring his  forgiveness,  but  in  vain  ;  and  the 
last  of  these  letters,  dated  not  long  before  his 
death,  is  more  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had  done 
than  suffered  injury : 


*  Lettere,  torn,  iv.,  80;  torn,  ii.,  207.  The  only  letters  that 
favor  the  supposition  of  his  spectral  apparitions  having  tor- 
mented him  after  his  release,  are  those  of  1586:  Lettere,  torn, 
ii.,  36,  37,  116;  those  of  1587:  torn,  i.,  216;  torn,  ii.,  294,  295; 
torn,  iii.,  241 ;  those  of  1588 :  torn,  i.,  186,  and  torn  iv.,  246, 
except  such  as  are  above  quoted  and  his  last  letter  to  Con- 
stantino. Of  the  Rime,  the  only  passages  that  occur  to  us,  as 
in  conflict  with  any  part  of  the  foregoing  theory  are,  sonnet 
442,  torn,  iii,,  to  Manso,  when  he  says : 

"  lo  fatto  quasi  per  dolore  insano" 
and  sonnet  179,  torn,  iii.,  to  Veniero : 

"  Q.ui  dove  sol  pieta  forse  mi  serra." 

It  is  not  impossible  his  malady  may  have  returned  at  inter- 
vals, but  becoming  aware  that  it  had  caused  his  sanity  to  be 
doubted,  he  ceased  to  speak  of  it. 


270 


"  To  the  Duke  of  Ferrara. 

"  If  the  past  could  return,  there  is  nothing 
I  would  rather  choose  than  always  to  have 
served  your  highness,  or  at  least  not  to  have 
lost  your  favor  by  misfortune.  But  since  it  is 
impossible  to  correct  the  past,  which  is  long,  in 
what  remains  to  me  of  the  future,  which  is  very 
short,  1  will  take  more  care  to  avoid  your  high- 
ness's  displeasure  than  that  of  anybody  else. 
This  has  been  my  resolution  for  many  years, 
however  obstructed  or  badly  executed.  I  beg 
you  anew  to  have  compassion  on  me  ;  and  I 
pray  God  with  the  most  devout  heart  to  grant 
me  his  pardon,  and  that  of  your  serene  high- 
ness. Deign -to  consider  what  the  Prince  of 
Venosa  has  written,  and  what  I  have  said 
several  times  to  your  ambassador,  and  may  God 
send  you  long  life  and  happiness.  Rome,  10th 
of  December,  1594." 

Our  task  is  finished.  We  have  but  followed 
the  advice  of  Michael  Angelo  :  "  The  statue  is 
in  the  marble ;  seek  it  there  and  you  will 
find  it." 

THE    END. 


ERRATA 


Page  37,  note,  line  3.     Instead  of  "  Doltore"  read  Dottore. 
8.     Instead  of  "  picta"  read  pietd. 
10.     Instead  of  "  Suglio"  read  Luglio. 
74,  note,  line  2.     Instead  of"  origina"  read  original. 
135,  note,  last  line.     Instead  of  "  innabzar"  read  innalzar. 
139,  note,  line  2.     Instead  of"  Inferro"  read  Inferno. 


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